SMI 


3-^\Zo 


ROKEBY 

THE 

LORD   OF  THE   ISLES 

THE 

BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS,  INDEXES,  ETC. 


BY 


SIR  WALTER  SCOTT 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,   I913 
BY  HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


p£ d^i'^O 

R^  CONTENTS 

ROKEBY 

introduction 3 

canto  first ii 

canto  second 45 

canto  third        75 

canto  fourth .  108 

canto  fifth 141 

canto  sixth 183 

The  Lord  of  the  Isles 

advertisement 225 

introduction 227 

canto  first 23 1 

canto  second 259 

canto  third 287 

canto  fourth 318 

canto  fifth 350 

canto  sixth 384 

Notes 425 

Glossary 609 


ROKEBY 

A  POEM   IN  SIX  CANTOS 


TO 

JOHN  B.  S.  MORRITT,  ESQ. 

THIS  POEM, 

THE  SCENE  OF  WHICH  IS  LAID  IN  HIS  BEAUTIFUL 

DEMESNE  OF 

ROKEBY, 

IS  INSCRIBED,  IN  TOKEN  OF  SINCERE  FRIENDSHIP, 

BY 

WALTER  SCOTT 


INTRODUCTION 

Between  the  publication  of  The  Lady  of  the  Lake,  which  was 
so  eminently  successful,  and  that  of  Rokehy,  in  1813,  three  years 
had  intervened.  I  shall  not,  I  believe,  be  accused  of  ever  having 
attempted  to  usurp  a  superiority  over  many  men  of  genius, 
my  contemporaries;  but,  in  point  of  popularity,  not  of  actual 
talent,  the  caprice  of  the  public  had  certainly  given  me  such  a 
temporary  superiority  over  men,  of  whom,  in  regard  to  poetical 
fancy  and  feeling,  I  scarcely  thought  myself  worthy  to  loose  the 
shoe-latch.  On  the  other  hand,  it  would  be  absurd  affectation 
in  me  to  deny,  that  I  conceived  myself  to  understand,  more 
perfectly  than  many  of  my  contemporaries,  the  manner  most 
likely  to  interest  the  great  mass  of  mankind.  Yet,  even  with 
this  belief,  I  must  truly  and  fairly  say  that  I  always  considered 
myself  rather  as  one  who  held  the  bets  in  time  to  be  paid  over 
to  the  winner,  than  as  hav'ing  any  pretence  to  keep  them  in  my 
own  right. 

In  the  mean  time  years  crept  on,  and  not  without  their  usual 
depredations  on  the  passing  generation.  My  sons  had  arrived 
at  the  age  when  the  paternal  home  was  no  longer  their  best 
abode,  as  both  were  destined  to  activ^e  life.  The  field-sports, 
to  which  I  was  peculiarly  attached,  had  now  less  interest,  and 
were  replaced  by  other  amusements  of  a  more  quiet  character; 
and  the  means  and  opportunity  of  pursuing  these  were  to  be 
sought  for.  I  had,  indeed,  for  some  years  attended  to  farming, 
a  knowledge  of  which  is,  or  at  least  was  then,  indispensable  to 
the  comfort  of  a  family  residing  in  a  solitary  country-house; 
but  although  this  was  the  favourite  amusement  of  many  of  my 
friends,  I  have  never  been  able  to  consider  it  as  a  source  of 
pleasure.  I  never  could  think  it  a  matter  of  passing  importance, 
that  my  cattle  or  crops  were  better  or  more  plentiful  than  those 
of  my  neighbours;  and  nevertheless  I  began  to  feel  the  necessity 


INTRODUCTION 

of  some  more  quiet  outdoor  occupation,  different  from  those  I 
had  hitherto  pursued.  I  purchased  a  small  farm  of  about  one 
hundred  acres,  with  the  purpose  of  planting  and  improving  it, 
to  which  property  circumstances  afterwards  enabled  me  to 
make  considerable  additions;  and  thus  an  era  took  place  in  my 
life,  almost  equal  to  the  important  one  mentioned  by  the  Vicar 
of  Wakefield,  when  he  removed  from  the  Blue-Room  to  the 
Brown.  In  point  of  neighbourhood,  at  least,  the  change  of  resi- 
dence made  little  more  difference.  Abbotsford,  to  which  we 
removed,  was  only  six  or  seven  miles  down  the  Tweed,  and  lay 
on  the  same  beautiful  stream.  It  did  not  possess  the  roman- 
tic character  of  Ashestiel,  my  former  residence;  but  it  had 
a  stretch  of  meadow-land  along  the  river,  and  possessed,  in 
the  phrase  of  the  landscape-gardener,  considerable  capabilities. 
Above  all,  the  land  was  my  own,  like  Uncle  Toby's  Bowling- 
Green,  to  do  what  I  would  with.  It  had  been,  though  the  grati- 
fication was  long  postponed,  an  early  wish  of  mine  to  connect 
myself  with  my  mother  earth,  and  prosecute  those  experiments 
by  which  a  species  of  creative  power  is  exercised  over  the  face 
of  Nature.  I  can  trace,  even  to  childhood,  a  pleasure  derived 
from  Dodsley's  account  of  Shenstone's  Leasowes,  and  I  envied 
the  poet  much  more  for  the  pleasure  of  accomplishing  the  objects 
detailed  in  his  friend's  sketch  of  his  grounds,  than  for  the 
possession  of  pipe,  crook,  flock,  and  Phillis  to  boot.  My  memory, 
also,  tenacious  of  quaint  expressions,  still  retained  a  phrase 
which  it  had  gathered  from  an  old  almanac  of  Charles  the 
Second's  time  (when  everything  down  to  almanacs  affected 
to  be  smart),  in  which  the  reader,  in  the  month  of  June,  is 
advised  for  health's  sake  to  walk  a  mile  or  two  every  day  before 
breakfast,  and,  if  he  can  possibly  so  manage,  to  let  his  exercise 
be  taken  upon  his  own  land. 

With  the  satisfaction  of  having  attained  the  fulfillment  of 
an  early  and  long-cherished  hope,  I  commenced  my  improve- 
ments, as  delightful  in  their  progress  as  those  of  the  child  who 
first  makes  a  dress  for  a  new  doll.  The  nakedness  of  the  land 
was  in  time  hidden  by  woodlands  of  considerable  extent  —  the 


INTRODUCTION 

smallest  of  possible  cottages  was  progressively  expanded  into 
a  sort  of  dream  of  a  mansion-house,  whimsical  in  the  exterior, 
but  convenient  within.  Xor  did  I  forget  what  is  the  natural 
pleasure  of  ever\-  man  who  has  been  a  reader;  I  mean  the  filling 
the  shelves  of  a  tolerably  large  library-.  All  these  objects  I  kept 
in  view,  to  be  executed  as  convenience  should  serve;  and 
although  I  knew  many  years  must  elapse  before  they  could  be 
attained,  I  was  of  a  disposition  to  comfort  myself  with  the 
Sjjanish  proverb,  'Time  and  I  against  any  two.' 

The  difficult  and  indispensable  point  of  finding  a  permanent 
subject  of  occupation  was  now  at  length  attained;  but  there 
was  annexed  to  it  the  necessity  of  becoming  again  a  candidate 
for  public  favour;  for  as  I  was  turned  improver  on  the  earth  of 
the  ever>--day  world,  it  was  under  condition  that  the  small 
tenement  of  Parnassus,  which  might  be  accessible  to  my  labours, 
should  not  remain  uncultivated. 

I  meditated,  at  first,  a  poem  on  the  subject  of  Bruce,  in  which 
I  made  some  progress,  but  afterts-ards  judged  it  advisable  to 
lay  it  aside,  supposing  that  an  English  storv'  might  have  more 
novelty';  in  consequence,  the  precedence  was  given  to  Rokehy. 

If  subject  and  scenery  could  have  influenced  the  fate  of  a 
poem,  that  of  Rokeby  should  have  been  eminently  distinguished; 
for  the  grounds  belonged  to  a  dear  friend,  with  whom  I  had 
lived  in  habits  of  intimacy-  for  many  years,  and  the  place  itself 
united  the  romantic  beauties  of  the  wilds  of  Scotland  with  the 
rich  and  smiling  aspect  of  the  southern  portion  of  the  island. 
But  the  Cavaliers  and  Roundheads,  whom  I  attempted  to  sum- 
mon up  to  tenant  this  beautiful  region,  had  for  the  public  neither 
the  novelty  nor  the  peculiar  interest  of  the  primitive  High- 
landers. This,  perhaps,  was  scarcely  to  be  expected,  considering 
that  the  general  mind  s>-mpathises  readily  and  at  once  with  the 
stamp  which  Nature  herself  has  affixed  upon  the  manners  of  a 
people  living  in  a  simple  and  patriarchal  state;  whereas  it  has 
more  difficulty  in  understanding  or  interesting  itself  in  man- 
ners founded  upon  those  peculiar  habits  of  thinking  or  acting 
which  are  produced  by  the  progress  of  society.  We  could  read 


INTRODUCTION 

with  pleasure  the  tale  of  the  adventures  of  a  Cossack  or  a 
Mongol  Tartar,  while  we  only  wonder  and  stare  over  those  of 
the  lovers  in  the  Pleasing  Chinese  History,  where  the  embarrass- 
ments turn  upon  difficulties  arising  out  of  unintelligible  delica- 
cies peculiar  to  the  customs  and  manners  of  that  affected  people. 
The  cause  of  my  failure  had,  however,  a  far  deeper  root. 
The  manner,  or  style,  which,  by  its  novelty,  attracted  the  public 
in  an  unusual  degree,  had  now,  after  having  been  three  times 
before  them,  exhausted  the  patience  of  the  reader,  and  began 
in  the  fourth  to  lose  its  charms.  The  reviewers  may  be  said  to 
have  apostrophised  the  author  in  the  language  of  PsLTnelVs Edwin: 

And  here  reverse  the  charm,  he  cries. 

And  let  it  fairly  now  suffice, 
The  gambol  has  been  shown. 

The  licentious  combination  of  rhymes,  in  a  manner  perhaps 
not  very  congenial  to  our  language,  had  not  been  confined  to  the 
author.  Indeed,  in  most  similar  cases,  the  inventors  of  such 
novelties  have  their  reputation  destroyed  by  their  own  imita- 
tors, as  Actseon  fell  under  the  fury  of  his  own  dogs.  The  present 
author,  like  Bobadil,  had  taught  his  trick  of  fence  to  a  hundred 
gentlemen  (and  ladies),  who  could  fence  very  nearly  or  quite  as 
well  as  himself.  For  this  there  was  no  remedy;  the  harmony 
became  tiresome  and  ordinary,  and  both  the  original  inventor 
and  his  invention  must  have  fallen  into  contempt  if  he  had  not 
found  out  another  road  to  public  favour.  What  has  been  said 
of  the  metre  only,  must  be  considered  to  apply  equally  to  the 
structure  of  the  Poem  and  of  the  style.  The  very  best  passages 
of  any  popular  style  are  not,  perhaps,  susceptible  of  imitation, 
but  they  may  be  approached  by  men  of  talent;  and  those  who 
are  less  able  to  copy  them,  at  least  lay  hold  of  their  peculiar 
features,  so  as  to  produce  a  strong  burlesque.  In  either  way, 
the  effect  of  the  manner  is  rendered  cheap  and  common;  and, 
in  the  latter  case,  ridiculous  to  boot.  The  evil  consequences  to 
an  author's  reputation  are  at  least  as  fatal  as  those  which  come 
upon  the  musical  composer  when  his  melody  falls  into  the  hands 
of  the  street  ballad-singer. 


INTRODUCTION 

Of  the  unfavourable  species  of  imitation,  the  author's  style 
gave  room  to  a  very  large  number,  owing  to  an  appearance  of 
facility  to  which  some  of  those  who  used  the  measure  unques- 
tionably leaned  too  far.  The  effect  of  the  more  favourable 
imitations,  composed  by  persons  of  talent,  was  almost  equally 
unfortunate  to  the  original  minstrel,  by  showing  that  they 
could  overshoot  him  with  his  own  bow.  In  short,  the  popularity 
which  once  attended  the  School,  as  it  was  called,  was  now  fast 
decaying. 

Besides  all  this,  to  have  kept  his  ground  at  the  crisis  when 
Rokeby  appeared,  its  author  ought  to  have  put  forth  his  utmost 
strength,  and  to  have  possessed  at  least  all  his  original  advan- 
tages, for  a  mighty  and  unexpected  rival  was  advancing  on  the 
stage,  —  a  rival  not  in  poetical  powers  only,  but  in  that  art  of 
attracting  popularity,  in  which  the  present  writer  had  hitherto 
preceded  better  men  than  himself.  The  reader  will  easily  see 
that  Byron  is  here  meant,  who,  after  a  little  velitation  of  no 
great  promise,  now  appeared  as  a  serious  candidate,  in  the  first 
two  cantos  of  Childe  Harold.  I  was  astonished  at  the  power 
evinced  by  that  work,  which  neither  the  Hours  of  Idleness,  nor 
the  English  Bards  and  Scotch  Revieivers,  had  prepared  me  to 
expect  from  its  author.  There  was  a  depth  in  his  thought,  an 
eager  abundance  in  his  diction,  which  argued  full  confidence  in 
the  inexhaustible  resources  of  which  he  felt  himself  possessed, 
and  there  was  some  appearance  of  that  labour  of  the  file,  which 
indicates  that  the  author  is  conscious  of  the  necessity  of  doing 
every  justice  to  his  work,  that  it  may  pass  warrant.  Lord  Byron 
was  also  a  traveller,  a  man  whose  ideas  were  fired  by  having 
seen,  in  distant  scenes  of  difficulty  and  danger,  the  places  whose 
very  names  are  recorded  in  our  bosoms  as  the  shrines  of  ancient 
poetry.  For  his  own  misfortune,  perhaps,  but  certainly  to  the 
high  increase  of  his  poetical  character.  Nature  had  mixed  in 
Lord  Byron's  system  those  passions  which  agitate  the  human 
heart  with  most  violence,  and  which  may  be  said  to  have  hurried 
his  bright  career  to  an  early  close.  There  would  have  been  little 
wisdom  in  measuring  my  force  with  so  formidable  an  antagonist; 


INTRODUCTION 

and  I  was  as  likely  to  tire  of  playing  the  second  fiddle  in  the 
concert,  as  my  audience  of  hearing  me.  Age  also  was  advancing. 
I  was  growing  insensible  to  those  subjects  of  excitation  by  which 
youth  is  agitated.  I  had  around  me  the  most  pleasant  but  least 
exciting  of  all  society,  that  of  kind  friends  and  an  affectionate 
family.  My  circle  of  employments  was  a  narrow  one;  it  occu- 
pied me  constantly,  and  it  became  daily  more  difficult  for  me 
to  interest  myself  in  poetical  composition :  — 

How  happily  the  days  of  Thalaba  went  by! 

Yet,  though  conscious  that  I  must  be,  in  the  opinion  of  good 
judges,  inferior  to  the  place  I  had  for  four  or  five  years  held  in 
letters,  and  feeling  alike  that  the  latter  was  one  to  which  I  had 
only  a  temporary  right,  I  could  not  brook  the  idea  of  relinquish- 
ing literary  occupation,  which  had  been  so  long  my  chief  diver- 
sion. Neither  was  I  disposed  to  choose  the  alternative  of  sink- 
ing into  a  mere  editor  and  commentator,  though  that  was  a 
species  of  labour  which  I  had  practised,  and  to  which  I  was 
attached.  But  I  could  not  endure  to  think  that  I  might  not, 
whether  known  or  concealed,  do  something  of  more  importance. 
My  inmost  thoughts  were  those  of  the  Trojan  Captain  in  the 
galley  race :  — 

Non  jam  prima  i)eto  Mnestheus,  neque  vincere  certo, 
Quanquam  OI  —  sed  superent,  quibus  hoc,  Neptune,  dedist!; 
Extremoa  pudeat  redilsse:  hoc  vincite,  cives, 
Et  prohibete  nefas.' 

Ain.  lib.  V,  194. 

I  had,  indeed,  some  private  reasons  for  my  'Quanquam  O!* 
which  were  not  worse  than  those  of  Mnestheus.  I  have  already 
hinted  that  the  materials  were  collected  for  a  poem  on  the  sub- 
ject of  Bruce,  and  fragments  of  it  had  been  shown  to  some  of  my 
friends,  and  received  with  applause.  Notwithstanding,  there- 
fore, the  eminent  success  of  Byron,  and  the  great  chance  of  his 

•  I  seek  not  now  the  foremost  palm  to  gain; 
Though  yet  —  but  ah!  that  haughty  wish  is  vain! 
Let  those  enjoy  it  whom  the  gods  ordain. 
But  to  be  last,  the  lags  of  all  the  race!  — 
Redeem  youraelves  and  me  from  that  disgrace. 

Drtden 

8 


INTRODUCTION 

taking  the  wind  out  of  my  sails,  there  was,  I  judged,  a  species  of 
cowardice  in  desisting  from  the  task  which  I  had  undertaken, 
and  it  was  time  enough  to  retreat  when  the  battle  should  be 
more  decidedly  lost.  The  sale  of  Rokeby,  excepting  as  compared 
with  that  of  The  Lady  of  the  Lake,  was  in  the  highest  degree 
respectable;  and  as  it  included  fifteen  hundred  quartos,  in  those 
quarto-reading  days,  the  trade  had  no  reason  to  be  dissatisfied. 

Abbotsford,  April,  1830. 


ROKEBY 


ADVERTISEMENT 

The  Scene  of  this  Poem  is  laid  at  Rokeby,  near  Greta  Bridge,  in 
Yorkshire,  and  shifts  to  the  adjacent  fortress  of  Barnard  Castle, 
and  to  other  places  in  that  Vicinity. 

The  Time  occupied  by  the  Action  is  a  space  of  Five  Days,  Three 
of  which  are  supposed  to  elapse  between  the  end  of  the  Fifth  and 
the  beginning  of  the  Sixth  Canto. 

The  date  of  the  supposed  events  is  immediately  subsequent  to 
the  great  Battle  of  Marston  Moor,  3d  July,  1644.  This  period  of 
public  confusion  has  been  chosen  without  any  purpose  of  combining 
the  Fable  with  the  Military  or  Political  Events  of  the  Civil  War, 
but  only  as  affording  a  degree  of  probability  to  the  Fictitious  Nar- 
rative now  presented  to  the  Public. 


CANTO  FIRST 

I 

The  moon  is  in  her  summer  glow, 
But  hoarse  and  high  the  breezes  blow, 
And,  racking  o'er  her  face,  the  cloud 
Varies  the  tincture  of  her  shroud ; 
On  Barnard's  towers  and  Tees's  stream,* 
She  changes  as  a  guilty  dream, 

»  See  Note  i. 
II 


ROKEBY 

When  Conscience  with  remorse  and  fear 
Goads  sleeping  Fancy's  wild  career. 
Her  light  seems  now  the  blush  of  shame, 
Seems  now  fierce  anger's  darker  flame, 
Shifting  that  shade  to  come  and  go, 
Like  apprehension's  hurried  glow; 
Then  sorrow's  livery  dims  the  air, 
And  dies  in  darkness,  like  despair. 
Such  varied  hues  the  warder  sees 
Reflected  from  the  Woodland  Tees, 
Then  from  old  Baliol's  tower  looks  forth, 
Sees  the  clouds  mustering  in  the  north, 
Hears  upon  turret-roof  and  wall 
By  fits  the  plashing  rain-drop  fall. 
Lists  to  the  breeze's  boding  sound, 
And  wraps  his  shaggy  mantle  round. 

II 

Those  towers,  which  in  the  changeful  gleam 
Throw  murky  shadows  on  the  stream. 
Those  towers  of  Barnard  hold  a  guest, 
The  emotions  of  whose  troubled  breast, 
In  wild  and  strange  confusion  driven. 
Rival  the  flitting  rack  of  heaven. 
Ere  sleep  stern  Oswald's  senses  tied, 
Oft  had  he  changed  his  weary  side. 
Composed  his  limbs,  and  vainly  sought 

12 


ROKEBY 

By  effort  strong  to  banish  thought. 
Sleep  came  at  length,  but  with  a  train 
Of  feelings  true  and  fancies  vain, 
Mingling,  in  wild  disorder  cast, 
The  expected  future  with  the  past. 
Conscience,  anticipating  time, 
Already  rues  the  enacted  crime. 
And  calls  her  furies  forth  to  shake 
The  sounding  scourge  and  hissing  snake; 
While  her  poor  victim's  outward  throes 
Bear  witness  to  his  mental  woes, 
And  show  what  lesson  may  be  read 
Beside  a  sinner's  restless  bed. 

Ill 

Thus  Oswald's  labouring  feelings  trace 
Strange  changes  in  his  sleeping  face, 
Rapid  and  ominous  as  these 
With  which  the  moonbeams  tinge  the  Tees. 
There  might  be  seen  of  shame  the  blush, 
There  anger's  dark  and  fiercer  flush, 
While  the  perturbed  sleeper's  hand 
Seemed  grasping  dagger-knife  or  brand. 
Relaxed  that  grasp,  the  heavy  sigh, 
The  tear  in  the  half-opening  eye. 
The  pallid  cheek  and  brow,  confessed 
That  grief  was  busy  in  his  breast: 
13 


ROKEBY 

Nor  paused  that  mood  —  a  sudden  start 
Impelled  the  life-blood  from  the  heart; 
Features  convulsed  and  mutterings  dread 
Show  terror  reigns  in  sorrow's  stead. 
That  pang  the  painful  slumber  broke, 
And  Oswald  with  a  start  awoke. 

IV 

He  woke,  and  feared  again  to  close 
His  eyelids  in  such  dire  repose; 
He  woke,  —  to  watch  the  lamp,  and  tell 
From  hour  to  hour  the  castle-bell, 
Or  listen  to  the  owlet's  cry. 
Or  the  sad  breeze  that  whistles  by, 
Or  catch  by  fits  the  tuneless  rhyme 
With  which  the  warder  cheats  the  time, 
And  envying  think  how,  when  the  sun 
Bids  the  poor  soldier's  watch  be  done. 
Couched  on  his  straw  and  fancy-free, 
He  sleeps  like  careless  infancy. 

V 

Far  townward  sounds  a  distant  tread. 
And  Oswald,  starting  from  his  bed, 
Hath  caught  it,  though  no  human  ear, 
Unsharpened  by  revenge  and  fear, 
14 


ROKEBY 

Could  e'er  distinguish  horse's  clank, 
Until  it  reached  the  castle  bank. 
Now  nigh  and  plain  the  sound  appears, 
The  warder's  challenge  now  he  hears,  ^ 
Then  clanking  chains  and  levers  tell 
That  o'er  the  moat  the  drawbridge  fell, 
And,  in  the  castle  court  below, 
Voices  are  heard,  and  torches  glow, 
As  marshalling  the  stranger's  way 
Straight  for  the  room  where  Oswald  lay; 
The  cry  was,  'Tidings  from  the  host, 
Of  weight  —  a  messenger  comes  post.' 
Stifling  the  tumult  of  his  breast, 
His  answer  Oswald  thus  expressed, 
'Bring  food  and  wine,  and  trim  the  fire; 
Admit  the  stranger  and  retire.' 

VI 

The  stranger  came  with  heavy  stride; 
The  morion's  plumes  his  visage  hide. 
And  the  buff-coat  in  ample  fold 
Mantles  his  form's  gigantic  mould.^ 
Full  slender  answer  deignM  he 
To  Oswald's  anxious  courtesy, 
But  marked  by  a  disdainful  smile 
He  saw  and  scorned  the  petty  wile, 

«  See  Note  2.  »  See  Note  3. 

IS 


ROKEBY 

When  Oswald  changed  the  torch's  place, 

Anxious  that  on  the  soldier's  face 

Its  partial  lustre  might  be  thrown, 

To  show  his  looks  yet  hide  his  own. 

His  guest  the  while  laid  slow  aside 

The  ponderous  cloak  of  tough  bull's  hide, 

And  to  the  torch  glanced  broad  and  clear 

The  corselet  of  a  cuirassier ; 

Then  from  his  brows  the  casque  he  drew 

And  from  the  dank  plume  dashed  the  dew, 

From  gloves  of  mail  relieved  his  hands 

And  spread  them  to  the  kindling  brands, 

And,  turning  to  the  genial  board, 

Without  a  health  or  pledge  or  word 

Of  meet  and  social  reverence  said, 

Deeply  he  drank  and  fiercely  fed. 

As  free  from  ceremony's  sway 

As  famished  wolf  that  tears  his  prey. 


VII 

With  deep  impatience,  tinged  with  fear, 
His  host  beheld  him  gorge  his  cheer, 
And  quaff  the  full  carouse  that  lent 
His  brow  a  fiercer  hardiment. 
Now  Oswald  stood  a  space  aside, 
Now  paced  the  room  with  hasty  stride, 
i6 


ROKEBY 

In  feverish  agony  to  learn 
Tidings  of  deep  and  dread  concern, 
Cursing  each  moment  that  his  guest 
Protracted  o'er  his  ruffian  feast, 
Yet,  viewing  with  alarm  at  last 
The  end  of  that  uncouth  repast, 
Almost  he  seemed  their  haste  to  rue 
As  at  his  sign  his  train  withdrew, 
And  left  him  with  the  stranger,  free 
To  question  of  his  mystery. 
Then  did  his  silence  long  proclaim 
A  struggle  between  fear  and  shame. 

VIII 

Much  in  the  stranger's  mien  appears 
To  justify  suspicious  fears. 
On  his  dark  face  a  scorching  clime 
And  toil  had  done  the  work  of  time, 
Roughened  the  brow,  the  temples  bared, 
And  sable  hairs  with  silver  shared. 
Yet  left  —  what  age  alone  could  tame  — 
The  lip  of  pride,  the  eye  of  flame; 
The  full-drawn  lip  that  upward  curled. 
The  eye  that  seemed  to  scorn  the  world. 
That  lip  had  terror  never  blanched ; 
Ne'er  in  that  eye  had  tear-drop  quenched 
40  17 


ROKEBY 

The  flash  severe  of  swarthy  glow 
That  mocked  at  pain  and  knew  not  woe. 
Inured  to  danger's  direst  form, 
Tornado  and  earthquake,  flood  and  storm, 
Death  had  he  seen  by  sudden  blow, 
By  wasting  plague,  by  tortures  slow, 
By  mine  or  breach,  by  steel  or  ball. 
Knew  all  his  shapes  and  scorned  them  all.^ 


IX 

But  yet,  though  Bertram's  hardened  look 
Unmoved  could  blood  and  danger  brook, 
Still  worse  than  apathy  had  place 
On  his  swart  brow  and  callous  face; 
For  evil  passions  cherished  long 
Had  ploughed  them  with  impressions  strong. 
All  that  gives  gloss  to  sin,  all  gay 
Light  folly,  past  with  youth  away, 
But  rooted  stood  in  manhood's  hour 
The  weeds  of  vice  without  their  flower. 
And  yet  the  soil  in  which  they  grew. 
Had  it  been  tamed  when  life  was  new, 
Had  depth  and  vigour  to  bring  forth 
The  hardier  fruits  of  virtuous  worth. 
Not  that  e'en  then  his  heart  had  known 

«  See  Note  4. 
18 


ROKEBY 

The  gentler  feelings'  kindly  tone; 
But  lavish  waste  had  been  refined 
To  bounty  in  his  chastened  mind, 
And  lust  of  gold,  that  waste  to  feed. 
Been  lost  in  love  of  glory's  meed, 
And,  frantic  then  no  more,  his  pride 
Had  ta'en  fair  virtue  for  its  guide. 


Even  now,  by  conscience  unrestrained, 
Clogged  by  gross  vice,  by  slaughter  stained, 
Still  knew  his  daring  soul  to  soar, 
And  mastery  o'er  the  mind  he  bore; 
For  meaner  guilt  or  heart  less  hard 
Quailed  beneath  Bertram's  bold  regard. 
And  this  felt  Oswald,  while  in  vain 
He  strove  by  many  a  winding  train 
To  lure  his  sullen  guest  to  show 
Unasked  the  news  he  longed  to  know, 
While  on  far  other  subject  hung 
His  heart  than  faltered  from  his  tongue. 
Yet  nought  for  that  his  guest  did  deign 
To  note  or  spare  his  secret  pain. 
But  still  in  stern  and  stubborn  sort 
Returned  him  answer  dark  and  short, 
Or  started  from  the  theme  to  range 

19 


ROKEBY 

In  loose  digression  wild  and  strange, 
And  forced  the  embarrassed  host  to  buy 
By  query  close  direct  reply. 

XI 

Awhile  he  glozed  upon  the  cause 

Of  Commons,  Covenant,  and  Laws, 

And  Church  reformed  —  but  felt  rebuke 

Beneath  grim  Bertram's  sneering  look. 

Then  stammered  —  'Has  a  field  been  fought? 

Has  Bertram  news  of  battle  brought? 

For  sure  a  soldier,  famed  so  far 

In  foreign  fields  for  feats  of  war, 

On  eve  of  fight  ne'er  left  the  host 

Until  the  field  were  won  and  lost.' 

'Here,  in  your  towers  by  circling  Tees, 
You,  Oswald  Wycllffe,  rest  at  ease; 
Why  deem  it  strange  that  others  come 
To  share  such  safe  and  easy  home, 
From  fields  where  danger,  death,  and  toil 
Are  the  reward  of  civil  broil?'  — 

'Nay,  mock  not,  friend!  since  well  we  know 
The  near  advances  of  the  foe. 
To  mar  our  northern  army's  work, 
Encamped  before  beleaguered  York. 
Thy  horse  with  valiant  Fairfax  lay. 
And  must  have  fought  —  how  went  the  day?' 
20 


ROKEBY 

XII 

'Wouldst  hear  the  tale?  —  On  Marston  heath* 
Met  front  to  front  the  ranks  of  death ; 
Flourished  the  trumpets  fierce,  and  now- 
Fired  was  each  eye  and  flushed  each  brow; 
On  either  side  loud  clamours  ring, 

"God  and  the  Cause!"  —  "God  and  the  King!" 
Right  English  all,  they  rushed  to  blows, 
With  nought  to  win  and  all  to  lose. 
I  could  have  laughed  —  but  lacked  the  time  — 
To  see,  in  phrenesy  sublime, 
How  the  fierce  zealots  fought  and  bled 
For  king  or  state,  as  humour  led ; 
Some  for  a  dream  of  public  good. 
Some  for  church-tippet,  gown,  and  hood. 
Draining  their  veins,  in  death  to  claim 
A  patriot's  or  a  martyr's  name.  — 
Led  Bertram  Risingham  the  hearts 
That  countered  there  on  adverse  parts, 
No  superstitious  fool  had  I 
Sought  El  Dorados  in  the  sky! 
Chili  had  heard  me  through  her  states, 
And  Lima  oped  her  silver  gates. 
Rich  Mexico  I  had  marched  through, 
And  sacked  the  splendours  of  Peru, 

>  See  Note  S- 
21 


ROKEBY 

Till  sunk  Pizarro's  daring  name, 
And,  Cortez,  thine,  in  Bertram's  fame.'  — 
'Still  from  the  purpose  wilt  thou  stray! 
Good  gentle  friend,  how  went  the  day?* 

XIII 

'Good  am  I  deemed  at  trumpet  sound, 
And  good  where  goblets  dance  the  round, 
Though  gentle  ne'er  was  joined  till  now 
With  rugged  Bertram's  breast  and  brow.  — 
But  I  resume.  The  battle's  rage 
Was  like  the  strife  which  currents  wage 
Where  Orinoco  in  his  pride 
Rolls  to  the  main  no  tribute  tide, 
But  'gainst  broad  ocean  urges  far 
A  rival  sea  of  roaring  war; 
While,  in  ten  thousand  eddies  driven, 
The  billows  fling  their  foam  to  heaven, 
And  the  pale  pilot  seeks  in  vain 
Where  rolls  the  river,  where  the  main. 
Even  thus  upon  the  bloody  field 
The  eddying  tides  of  conflict  wheeled 
Ambiguous,  till  that  heart  of  flame. 
Hot  Rupert,  on  our  squadrons  came, 
Hurling  against  our  spears  a  line 
Of  gallants  fiery  as  their  wine; 
Then  ours,  though  stubborn  in  their  zeal, 

22 


ROKEBY 

In  zeal's  despite  began  to  reel. 

What  vvouldst  thou  more?  —  in  tumult  tost, 

Our  leaders  fell,  our  ranks  were  lost. 

A  thousand  men  who  drew  the  sword 

For  both  the  Houses  and  the  Word, 

Preached  forth  from  hamlet,  grange,  and  down, 

To  curb  the  crosier  and  the  crown. 

Now,  stark  and  stiff,  lie  stretched  in  gore, 

And  ne'er  shall  rail  at  mitre  more.  — 

Thus  fared  it  when  I  left  the  fight 

With  the  good  Cause  and  Commons'  right.'  — 

XIV 

'Disastrous  news!'  dark  Wycliffe  said; 
Assumed  despondence  bent  his  head. 
While  troubled  joy  was  in  his  eye. 
The  well-feigned  sorrow  to  belie.  — 

*  Disastrous  news !  —  when  needed  most. 
Told  ye  not  that  your  chiefs  were  lost? 
Complete  the  woful  tale  and  say 
Who  fell  upon  that  fatal  day. 
What  leaders  of  repute  and  name 
Bought  by  their  death  a  deathless  fame. 
If  such  my  direst  foeman's  doom. 
My  tears  shall  dew  his  honoured  tomb.  — 
No  answer?  —  Friend,  of  all  our  host, 
Thou  know'st  whom  I  should  hate  the  most, 
23 


ROKEBY 

Whom  thou  too  once  wert  wont  to  hate, 
Yet  lea  vest  me  doubtful  of  his  fate.'  — 
With  look  unmoved  —  '  Of  friend  or  foe, 
Aught,'  answered  Bertram,  'wouldst  thou  know, 
Demand  in  simple  terms  and  plain, 
A  soldier's  answer  shalt  thou  gain; 
For  question  dark  or  riddle  high 
I  have  nor  judgment  nor  reply.* 

XV 

The  wrath  his  art  and  fear  suppressed 
Now  blazed  at  once  in  Wycliffe's  breast, 
And  brave  from  man  so  meanly  born 
Roused  his  hereditary  scorn. 

'Wretch!  hast  thou  paid  thy  bloody  debt? 
Philip  of  Mortham,  lives  he  yet? 
False  to  thy  patron  or  thine  oath, 
Traitorous  or  perjured,  one  or  both. 
Slave !  hast  thou  kept  thy  promise  plight, 
To  slay  thy  leader  in  the  fight?* 
Then  from  his  seat  the  soldier  sprung. 
And  Wycliffe's  hand  he  strongly  wrung; 
His  grasp,  as  hard  as  glove  of  mail, 
Forced  the  red  blood-drop  from  the  nail  — 

*  A  health ! '  he  cried ;  and  ere  he  quaffed 
Flung  from  him  Wycliffe's  hand  and  laughed  — 

'Now,  Oswald  Wycliffe,  speaks  thy  heart! 
24 


ROKEBY 

Now  play'st  thou  well  thy  genuine  part! 
Worthy,  but  for  thy  craven  fear, 
Like  me  to  roam  a  buccaneer. 
What  reck'st  thou  of  the  Cause  divine, 
If  Mortham's  wealth  and  lands  be  thine? 
What  carest  thou  for  beleaguered  York, 
If  this  good  hand  have  done  its  work? 
Or  what  though  Fairfax  and  his  best 
Are  reddening  Marston's  swarthy  breast. 
If  Philip  Mortham  with  them  lie. 
Lending  his  life-blood  to  the  dye?  — 
Sit,  then!  and  as  'mid  comrades  free 
Carousing  after  victory. 
When  tales  are  told  of  blood  and  fear 
That  boys  and  women  shrink  to  hear, 
From  point  to  point  I  frankly  tell 
The  deed  of  death  as  it  befell. 

XVI 

'When  purposed  vengeance  I  forego. 
Term  me  a  wretch,  nor  deem  me  foe; 
And  when  an  insult  I  forgive. 
Then  brand  me  as  a  slave  and  live !  — 
Philip  of  Mortham  is  with  those 
Whom  Bertram  Risingham  calls  foes; 
Or  whom  more  sure  revenge  attends. 
If  numbered  with  ungrateful  friends. 
25 


ROKEBY 

As  was  his  wont,  ere  battle  glowed, 
Along  the  marshalled  ranks  he  rode, 
And  wore  his  visor  up  the  while. 
I  saw  his  melancholy  smile 
When,  full  opposed  in  front,  he  knew 
Where  Rokeby's  kindred  banner  flew. 
"And  thus,"  he  said,  "will  friends  divide!"  — 
I  heard,  and  thought  how  side  by  side 
We  two  had  turned  the  battle's  tide 
In  many  a  well-debated  field 
Where  Bertram's  breast  was  Philip's  shield. 
I  thought  on  Darien's  deserts  pale 
Where  death  bestrides  the  evening  gale; 
How  o'er  my  friend  my  cloak  I  threw, 
And  fenceless  faced  the  deadly  dew; 
I  thought  on  Quariana's  cliff 
Where,  rescued  from  our  foundering  skiff, 
Through  the  white  breakers'  wrath  I  bore 
Exhausted  Mortham  to  the  shore ; 
And,  when  his  side  an  arrow  found, 
I  sucked  the  Indian's  venomed  wound. 
These  thoughts  like  torrents  rushed  along, 
To  sweep  away  my  purpose  strong. 

XVII 

'Hearts  are  not  flint,  and  flints  are  rent; 
Hearts  are  not  steel,  and  steel  is  bent. 
26 


ROKEBY 

When  Mortham  bade  me,  as  of  yore, 
Be  near  him  in  the  battle's  roar, 
I  scarcely  saw  the  spears  laid  low, 
I  scarcely  heard  the  trumpets  blow; 
Lost  was  the  war  in  inward  strife. 
Debating  Mortham's  death  or  life. 
*T  was  then  I  thought  how,  lured  to  come 
As  partner  of  his  wealth  and  home, 
Years  of  piratic  wandering  o'er. 
With  him  I  sought  our  native  shore. 
But  Mortham's  lord  grew  far  estranged 
From  the  bold  heart  with  whom  he  ranged ; 
Doubts,  horrors,  superstitious  fears, 
Saddened  and  dimmed  descending  years; 
The  wily  priests  their  victim  sought. 
And  damned  each  free-born  deed  and  thought. 
Then  must  I  seek  another  home. 
My  license  shook  his  sober  dome ; 
If  gold  he  gave,  in  one  wild  day 
I  revelled  thrice  the  sum  away. 
An  idle  outcast  then  I  strayed. 
Unfit  for  tillage  or  for  trade. 
Deemed,  like  the  steel  of  rusted  lance, 
Useless  and  dangerous  at  once. 
The  women  feared  my  hardy  look. 
At  my  approach  the  peaceful  shook; 
The  merchant  saw  my  glance  of  flame, 
27 


ROKEBY 

And  locked  his  hoards  when  Bertram  came; 
Each  child  of  coward  peace  kept  far 
From  the  neglected  son  of  war. 

XVIII 

'But  civil  discord  gave  the  call, 
And  made  my  trade  the  trade  of  all. 
By  Mortham  urged,  I  came  again 
His  vassals  to  the  fight  to  train. 
What  guerdon  waited  on  my  care? 
I  could  not  cant  of  creed  or  prayer; 
Sour  fanatics  each  trust  obtained, 
And  I,  dishonoured  and  disdained, 
Gained  but  the  high  and  happy  lot 
In  these  poor  arms  to  front  the  shot !  — 
All  this  thou  know'st,  thy  gestures  tell; 
Yet  hear  it  o'er  and  mark  it  well. 
'T  is  honour  bids  me  now  relate 
Each  circumstance  of  Mortham's  fate. 

XIX 

'Thoughts,  from  the  tongue  that  slowly  part, 
Glance  quick  as  lightning  through  the  heart. 
As  my  spur  pressed  my  courser's  side, 
Philip  of  Mortham's  cause  was  tried, 
And  ere  the  charging  squadrons  mixed 
His  plea  was  cast,  his  doom  was  fixed. 
28 


ROKEBY 

I  watched  him  through  the  doubtful  fray, 

That  changed  as  March's  moody  day, 

Till,  like  a  stream  that  bursts  its  bank, 

Fierce  Rupert  thundered  on  our  flank. 

'T  was  then,  'midst  tumult,  smoke,  and  strife, 

Where  each  man  fought  for  death  or  life, 

'T  was  then  I  fired  my  petronel, 

And  Mortham,  steed  and  rider,  fell. 

One  dying  look  he  upward  cast, 

Of  wrath  and  anguish  —  't  was  his  last. 

Think  not  that  there  I  stopped,  to  view 

What  of  the  battle  should  ensue ; 

But  ere  I  cleared  that  bloody  press, 

Our  northern  horse  ran  masterless; 

Monckton  and  Mitton  told  the  news  ^ 

How  troops  of  Roundheads  choked  the  Ouse, 

And  many  a  bonny  Scot  aghast, 

Spurring  his  palfrey  northward,  past. 

Cursing  the  day  when  zeal  or  meed 

First  lured  their  Lesley  o'er  the  Tweed. 

Yet  when  I  reached  the  banks  of  Swale, 

Had  rumour  learned  another  tale; 

With  his  barbed  horse,  fresh  tidings  say. 

Stout  Cromwell  has  redeemed  the  day:  * 

But  whether  false  the  news  or  true, 

Oswald,  I  reck  as  light  as  you.' 

«  See  Note  6.  «  See  Note  7. 

29 


ROKEBY 

XX 

Not  then  by  Wycliffe  might  be  shown 
How  his  pride  startled  at  the  tone 
In  which  his  complice,  fierce  and  free, 
Asserted  guilt's  equality. 
In  smoothest  terms  his  speech  he  wove 
Of  endless  friendship,  faith,  and  love; 
Promised  and  vowed  in  courteous  sort. 
But  Bertram  broke  professions  short. 
'Wycliffe,  be  sure  not  here  I  stay, 
No,  scarcely  till  the  rising  day; 
Warned  by  the  legends  of  my  youth, 
I  trust  not  an  associate's  truth. 
Do  not  my  native  dales  prolong 
Of  Percy  Rede,  the  tragic  song,* 
Trained  forward  to  his  bloody  fall. 
By  Girsonfield,  that  treacherous  Hall? 
Oft  by  the  Pringle's  haunted  side 
The  shepherd  sees  his  spectre  glide. 
And  near  the  spot  that  gave  me  name, 
The  moated  mound  of  Risingham, 
Where  Reed  upon  her  margin  sees 
Sweet  Woodburne's  cottages  and  trees, 
Some  ancient  sculptor's  art  has  shown 
An  outlaw's  image  on  the  stone ;  ^ 

>  See  Note  8.  '  See  Note  9. 

30 


ROKEBY 

Unmatched  in  strength,  a  giant  he, 
With  quivered  back  and  kirtled  knee. 
Ask  how  he  died,  that  hunter  bold, 
The  tameless  monarch  of  the  wold, 
And  age  and  infancy  can  tell 
By  brother's  treachery  he  fell. 
Thus  warned  by  legends  of  my  youth, 
I  trust  to  no  associate's  truth. 

XXI 

'When  last  we  reasoned  of  this  deed, 
Nought,  I  bethink  me,  was  agreed, 
Or  by  what  rule,  or  when,  or  where, 
The  wealth  of  Mortham  we  should  share; 
Then  list  while  I  the  portion  name 
Our  differing  laws  give  each  to  claim. 
Thou,  vassal  sworn  to  England's  throne. 
Her  rules  of  heritage  must  own ; 
They  deal  thee,  as  to  nearest  heir. 
Thy  kinsman's  lands  and  livings  fair. 
And  these  I  yield :  —  do  thou  revere 
The  statutes  of  the  buccaneer.^ 
Friend  to  the  sea,  and  foeman  sworn 
To  all  that  on  her  waves  are  borne, 
When  falls  a  mate  in  battle  broil 
His  comrade  heirs  his  portioned  spoil; 

»  See  Note  to. 
31 


ROKEBY 

When  dies  in  fight  a  daring  foe 
He  claims  his  wealth  who  struck  the  blow; 
And  either  rule  to  me  assigns 
Those  spoils  of  Indian  seas  and  mines 
Hoarded  in  Mortham's  caverns  dark; 
Ingot  of  gold  and  diamond  spark, 
Chalice  and  plate  from  churches  borne, 
And  gems  from  shrieking  beauty  torn. 
Each  string  of  pearl,  each  silver  bar, 
And  all  the  wealth  of  western  war. 
I  go  to  search  where,  dark  and  deep, 
Those  trans-Atlantic  treasures  sleep. 
Thou  must  along  —  for,  lacking  thee, 
The  heir  will  scarce  find  entrance  free ; 
And  then  farewell.   I  haste  to  try 
Each  varied  pleasure  wealth  can  buy; 
When  cloyed  each  wish,  these  wars  afford 
Fresh  work  for  Bertram's  restless  sword.' 


XXII 

An  undecided  answer  hung 
On  Oswald's  hesitating  tongue. 
Despite  his  craft,  he  heard  with  awe 
This  ruffian  stabber  fix  the  law; 
While  his  own  troubled  passions  veer 
Through  hatred,  joy,  regret,  and  fear: 
32 


ROKEBY 

Joyed  at  the  soul  that  Bertram  flies, 
He  grudged  the  murderer's  mighty  prize, 
Hated  his  pride's  presumptuous  tone. 
And  feared  to  wend  with  him  alone. 
At  length,  that  middle  course  to  steer 
To  cowardice  and  craft  so  dear, 
'His  charge,'  he  said,  'would  ill  allow 
His  absence  from  the  fortress  now; 
Wilfrid  on  Bertram  should  attend. 
His  son  should  journey  with  his  friend.* 

XXIII 

Contempt  kept  Bertram's  anger  down, 
And  wreathed  to  savage  smile  his  frown. 
'Wilfrid,  or  thou  —  't  is  one  to  me. 
Whichever  bears  the  golden  key. 
Yet  think  not  but  I  mark,  and  smile 
To  mark,  thy  poor  and  selfish  wile! 
If  injury  from  me  you  fear. 
What,  Oswald  Wycliffe,  shields  thee  here? 
I  've  sprung  from  walls  more  high  than  these, 
I  've  swam  through  deeper  streams  than  Tees. 
Might  I  not  stab  thee  ere  one  yell 
Could  rouse  the  distant  sentinel? 
Start  not  —  it  is  not  my  design. 
But,  if  it  were,  weak  fence  were  thine; 
49  33 


ROKEBY 

And,  trust  me  that  in  time  of  need 
This  hand  hath  done  more  desperate  deed. 
Go,  haste  and  rouse  thy  slumbering  son; 
Time  calls,  and  I  must  needs  be  gone.' 


XXIV 

Nought  of  his  sire's  ungenerous  part 
Polluted  Wilfrid's  gentle  heart, 
A  heart  too  soft  from  early  life 
To  hold  with  fortune  needful  strife. 
His  sire,  while  yet  a  hardier  race 
Of  numerous  sons  were  Wycliffe's  grace, 
On  Wilfrid  set  contemptuous  brand 
For  feeble  heart  and  forceless  hand ; 
But  a  fond  mother's  care  and  joy 
Were  centred  in  her  sickly  boy. 
No  touch  of  childhood's  frolic  mood 
Showed  the  elastic  spring  of  blood ; 
Hour  after  hour  he  loved  to  pore 
On  Shakespeare's  rich  and  varied  lore. 
But  turned  from  martial  scenes  and  light, 
From  Falstaff's  feast  and  Percy's  fight. 
To  ponder  Jaques'  moral  strain, 
And  muse  with  Hamlet,  wise  in  vain. 
And  weep  himself  to  soft  repose 
O'er  gentle  Desdemona's  woes. 
34 


ROKEBY 

XXV 

In  youth  he  sought  not  pleasures  found 
By  youth  in  horse  and  hawk  and  hound, 
But  loved  the  quiet  joys  that  wake 
By  lonely  stream  and  silent  lake ; 
In  Deepdale's  solitude  to  lie, 
Where  all  is  cliff  and  copse  and  sky ; 
To  climb  Catcastle's  dizzy  peak, 
Or  lone  Pendragon's  mound  to  seek. 
Such  was  his  wont ;  and  there  his  dream 
Soared  on  some  wild  fantastic  theme 
Of  faithful  love  or  ceaseless  spring, 
Till  Contemplation's  wearied  wing 
The  enthusiast  could  no  more  sustain, 
And  sad  he  sunk  to  earth  again. 

XXVI 

He  loved  —  as  many  a  lay  can  tell, 
Preserved  in  Stanmore's  lonely  dell ; 
For  his  was  minstrel's  skill,  he  caught 
The  art  unteachable,  untaught ; 
He  loved  —  his  soul  did  nature  frame 
For  love,  and  fancy  nursed  the  flame; 
Vainly  he  loved  —  for  seldom  swain 
Of  such  soft  mould  is  loved  again ; 
Silent  he  loved  —  in  every  gaze 
35 


ROKEBY 

Was  passion,  friendship  in  his  phrase; 
So  mused  his  life  away  —  till  died 
His  brethren  all,  their  father's  pride. 
Wilfrid  is  now  the  only  heir 
Of  all  his  stratagems  and  care, 
And  destined  darkling  to  pursue 
Ambition's  maze  by  Oswald's  clue. 

XXVII 

Wilfrid  must  love  and  woo  the  bright 
Matilda,  heir  of  Rokeby's  knight. 
To  love  her  was  an  easy  hest, 
The  secret  empress  of  his  breast; 
To  woo  her  was  a  harder  task 
To  one  that  durst  not  hope  or  ask. 
Yet  all  Matilda  could  she  gave 
In  pity  to  her  gentle  slave ; 
Friendship,  esteem,  and  fair  regard, 
And  praise,  the  poet's  best  reward ! 
She  read  the  tales  his  taste  approved. 
And  sung  the  lays  he  framed  or  loved ; 
Yet,  loth  to  nurse  the  fatal  flame 
Of  hopeless  love  in  friendship's  name, 
In  kind  caprice  she  oft  withdrew 
The  favouring  glance  to  friendship  due, 
Then  grieved  to  see  her  victim's  pain. 
And  gave  the  dangerous  smiles  again. 
36 


ROKEBY 

XXVIII 

So  did  the  suit  of  Wilfrid  stand 
When  war's  loud  summons  waked  the  land. 
Three  banners,  floating  o'er  the  Tees, 
The  woe-foreboding  peasant  sees; 
In  concert  oft  they  braved  of  old 
The  bordering  Scot's  incursion  bold: 
Frowning  defiance  in  their  pride, 
Their  vassals  now  and  lords  divide. 
From  his  fair  hall  on  Greta  banks. 
The  Knight  of  Rokeby  led  his  ranks, 
To  aid  the  valiant  northern  earls 
Who  drew  the  sword  for  royal  Charles. 
Mortham,  by  marriage  near  allied,  — 
His  sister  had  been  Rokeby's  bride. 
Though  long  before  the  civil  fray 
In  peaceful  grave  the  lady  lay,  — 
Philip  of  Mortham  raised  his  band, 
And  marched  at  Fairfax's  command; 
While  Wycliffe,  bound  by  many  a  train 
Of  kindred  art  with  wily  Vane, 
Less  prompt  to  brave  the  bloody  field. 
Made  Barnard's  battlements  his  shield. 
Secured  them  with  his  Lunedale  powers, 
And  for  the  Commons  held  the  towers. 


37 


ROKEBY 

XXIX 

The  lovely  heir  of  Rokeby's  Knight 
Waits  in  his  halls  the  event  of  fight ; 
For  England's  war  revered  the  claim 
Of  every  unprotected  name, 
And  spared  amid  its  fiercest  rage 
Childhood  and  womanhood  and  age. 
But  Wilfrid,  son  to  Rokeby's  foe, 
Must  the  dear  privilege  forego, 
By  Greta's  side  in  evening  grey, 
To  steal  upon  Matilda's  way. 
Striving  with  fond  hypocrisy 
For  careless  step  and  vacant  eye ; 
Calming  each  anxious  look  and  glance, 
To  give  the  meeting  all  to  chance, 
Or  framing  as  a  fair  excuse 
The  book,  the  pencil,  or  the  muse; 
Something  to  give,  to  sing,  to  say. 
Some  modern  tale,  some  ancient  lay. 
Then,  while  the  longed-for  minutes  last. 
Ah!  minutes  quickly  over-past!  — 
Recording  each  expression  free 
Of  kind  or  careless  courtesy. 
Each  friendly  look,  each  softer  tone. 
As  food  for  fancy  when  alone. 
All  this  is  o'er  —  but  still  unseen 
38 


ROKEBY 

Wilfrid  may  lurk  in  Eastwood  green, 
To  watch  Matilda's  wonted  round, 
While  springs  his  heart  at  every  sound. 
She  comes !  —  't  is  but  a  passing  sight,    • 
Yet  serves  to  cheat  his  weary  night ; 
She  comes  not  —  he  will  wait  the  hour 
When  her  lamp  lightens  in  the  tower; 
'T  is  something  yet  if,  as  she  past, 
Her  shade  is  o'er  the  lattice  cast. 

'What  is  my  life,  my  hope?'  he  said; 

'Alas!  a  transitory  shade.' 

XXX 

Thus  wore  his  life,  though  reason  strove 
For  mastery  in  vain  with  love. 
Forcing  upon  his  thoughts  the  sum 
Of  present  woe  and  ills  to  come. 
While  still  he  turned  impatient  ear 
From  Truth's  intrusive  voice  severe. 
Gentle,  indifferent,  and  subdued. 
In  all  but  this  unmoved  he  viewed 
Each  outward  change  of  ill  and  good : 
But  Wilfrid,  docile,  soft,  and  mild. 
Was  Fancy's  spoiled  and  wayward  child ; 
In  her  bright  car  she  bade  him  ride, 
With  one  fair  form  to  grace  his  side. 
Or,  in  some  wild  and  lone  retreat, 
39 


ROKEBY 

Flung  her  high  spells  around  his  seat, 
Bathed  in  her  dews  his  languid  head, 
Her  fairy  mantle  o'er  him  spread, 
For  him  her  opiates  gave  to  flow, 
Which  he  who  tastes  can  ne'er  forego. 
And  placed  him  in  her  circle,  free 
From  every  stern  reality. 
Till  to  the  Visionary  seem 
Her  day-dreams  truth,  and  truth  a  dream. 

XXXI 

Woe  to  the  youth  whom  Fancy  gains, 
Winning  from  Reason's  hand  the  reins, 
Pity  and  woe !  for  such  a  mind 
Is  soft,  contemplative,  and  kind ; 
And  woe  to  those  who  train  such  youth, 
And  spare  to  press  the  rights  of  truth, 
The  mind  to  strengthen  and  anneal 
While  on  the  stithy  glows  the  steel ! 
O  teach  him  while  your  lessons  last 
To  judge  the  present  by  the  past; 
Remind  him  of  each  wish  pursued. 
How  rich  it  glowed  with  promised  good; 
Remind  him  of  each  wish  enjoyed, 
How  soon  his  hopes  possession  cloyed! 
Tell  him  we  play  unequal  game 
Whene'er  we  shoot  by  Fancy's  aim ; 
40 


ROKEBY 

And,  ere  he  strip  him  for  her  race, 
Show  the  conditions  of  the  chase: 
Two  sisters  by  the  goal  are  set, 
Cold  Disappointment  and  Regret; 
One  disenchants  the  winner's  eyes, 
And  strips  of  all  its  worth  the  prize. 
While  one  augments  its  gaudy  show, 
More  to  enhance  the  loser's  woe. 
The  victor  sees  his  fairy  gold 
Transformed  when  won  to  drossy  mould, 
But  still  the  vanquished  mourns  his  loss, 
And  rues  as  gold  that  glittering  dross. 

XXXII 

More  wouldst  thou  know  —  yon  tower  survey, 
Yon  couch  unpressed  since  parting  day. 
Yon  untrimmed  lamp,  whose  yellow  gleam 
Is  mingling  with  the  cold  moonbeam. 
And  yon  thin  form !  —  the  hectic  red 
On  his  pale  cheek  unequal  spread ; 
The  head  reclined,  the  loosened  hair. 
The  limbs  relaxed,  the  mournful  air.  — 
See,  he  looks  up;  —  a  woful  smile 
Lightens  his  woe-worn  cheek  a  while,  — 
*T  is  Fancy  wakes  some  idle  thought. 
To  gild  the  ruin  she  has  wrought ; 
For,  like  the  bat  of  Indian  brakes, 
41 


ROKEBY 

Her  pinions  fan  the  wound  she  makes, 

And,  soothing  thus  the  dreamer's  pain, 

She  drinks  his  life-blood  from  the  vein. 

Now  to  the  lattice  turn  his  eyes, 

Vain  hope !  to  see  the  sun  arise. 

The  moon  with  clouds  is  still  o'ercast, 

Still  howls  by  fits  the  stormy  blast ; 

Another  hour  must  wear  away 

Ere  the  east  kindle  into  day, 

And  hark !  to  waste  that  weary  hour, 

He  tries  the  minstrel's  magic  power. 

XXXIII 

SONG 

TO  THE  MOON 

Hail  to  thy  cold  and  clouded  beam, 

Pale  pilgrim  of  the  troubled  sky! 
Hail,  though  the  mists  that  o'er  thee  stream 

Lend  to  thy  brow  their  sullen  dye! 
How  should  thy  pure  and  peaceful  eye 

Untroubled  view  our  scenes  below, 
Or  how  a  tearless  beam  supply 

To  light  a  world  of  war  and  woe  I 

Fair  Queen!  I  will  not  blame  thee  now. 
As  once  by  Greta's  fairy  side; 
42 


ROKEBY 

Each  little  cloud  that  dimmed  thy  brow 
Did  then  an  angel's  beauty  hide. 

And  of  the  shades  I  then  could  chide, 
Still  are  the  thoughts  to  memory  dear, 

For,  while  a  softer  strain  I  tried, 
They  hid  my  blush  and  calmed  my  fear. 

Then  did  I  swear  thy  ray  serene 

Was  formed  to  light  some  lonely  dell, 
By  two  fond  lovers  only  seen, 

Reflected  from  the  crystal  well ; 
Or  sleeping  on  their  mossy  cell, 

Or  quivering  on  the  lattice  bright. 
Or  glancing  on  their  couch,  to  tell 

How  swiftly  wanes  the  summer  night 

XXXIV 

He  starts  —  a  step  at  this  lone  hour! 
A  voice !  —  his  father  seeks  the  tower, 
With  haggard  look  and  troubled  sense, 
Fresh  from  his  dreadful  conference. 
'Wilfrid!  —  what,  not  to  sleep  addressed? 
Thou  hast  no  cares  to  chase  thy  rest. 
Mortham  has  fallen  on  Marston  Moor; 
Bertram  brings  warrant  to  secure 
His  treasures,  bought  by  spoil  and  blood. 
For  the  state's  use  and  public  good. 
43 


ROKEBY 

The  menials  will  thy  voice  obey; 
Let  his  commission  have  its  way, 
In  every  point,  in  every  word.' 
Then,  in  a  whisper,  —  'Take  thy  sword! 
Bertram  is  —  what  I  must  not  tell. 
I  hear  his  hasty  step  —  farewell !  * 


CANTO  SECOND 

I 

Far  in  the  chambers  of  the  west, 
The  gale  had  sighed  itself  to  rest; 
The  moon  was  cloudless  now  and  clear, 
But  pale  and  soon  to  disappear. 
The  thin  grey  clouds  waxed  dimly  light 
On  Brusleton  and  Houghton  height; 
And  the  rich  dale  that  eastward  lay 
Waited  the  wakening  touch  of  day, 
To  give  its  woods  and  cultured  plain. 
And  towers  and  spires,  to  light  again. 
But,  westward,  Stanmore's  shapeless  swell. 
And  Lunedale  wild,  and  Kelton-fell, 
And  rock-begirdled  Gilmanscar, 
And  Arkingarth,  lay  dark  afar; 
While  as  a  livelier  twilight  falls. 
Emerge  proud  Barnard's  bannered  walls. 
High  crowned  he  sits  in  dawning  pale, 
The  sovereign  of  the  lovely  vale. 

II 

What  prospects  from  his  watch-tower  high 
Gleam  gradual  on  the  warder's  eye !  — 
45 


ROKEBY 

Far  sweeping  to  the  east,  he  sees 
Down  his  deep  woods  the  course  of  Tees,^ 
And  tracks  his  wanderings  by  the  steam 
Of  summer  vapours  from  the  stream ; 
And  ere  he  pace  his  destined  hour 
By  Brackenbury's  dungeon-tower, 
These  silver  mists  shall  melt  away 
And  dew  the  woods  with  glittering  spray. 
Then  in  broad  lustre  shall  be  shown 
That  mighty  trench  of  living  stone, 
And  each  huge  trunk  that  from  the  side 
Reclines  him  o'er  the  darksome  tide 
Where  Tees,  full  many  a  fathom  low, 
Wears  with  his  rage  no  common  foe; 
For  pebbly  bank,  nor  sand-bed  here, 
Nor  clay-mound,  checks  his  fierce  career, 
Condemned  to  mine  a  channelled  way 
O'er  solid  sheets  of  marble  grey. 

Ill 

Nor  Tees  alone  in  dawning  bright 
Shall  rush  upon  the  ravished  sight; 
But  many  a  tributary  stream 
Each  from  its  own  dark  cell  shall  gleam: 
Staindrop,  who  from  her  sylvan  bowers 
Salutes  proud  Raby's  battled  towers; 

•  See  Note  ii, 
46 


ROKEBY 

The  rural  brook  of  Eglistone, 

And  Balder,  named  from  Odin's  son; 

And  Greta,  to  whose  banks  ere  long 

We  lead  the  lovers  of  the  song; 

And  silver  Lune  from  Stanmore  wild. 

And  fairy  Thorsgill's  murmuring  child, 

And  last  and  least,  but  loveliest  still, 

Romantic  Deepdale's  slender  rill. 

Who  in  that  dim-wood  glen  hath  strayed, 

Yet  longed  for  Roslin's  magic  glade? 

Who,  wandering  there,  hath  sought  to  change 

Even  for  that  vale  so  stern  and  strange 

Where  Cartland's  crags,  fantastic  rent, 

Through  her  green  copse  like  spires  are  sent? 

Yet,  Albin,  yet  the  praise  be  thine. 

Thy  scenes  and  story  to  combine! 

Thou  bid'st  him  who  by  RosHn  strays 

List  to  the  deeds  of  other  days; 

'Mid  Cartland's  crags  thou  show'st  the  cave, 

The  refuge  of  thy  champion  brave ; 

Giving  each  rock  its  storied  tale, 

Pouring  a  lay  for  every  dale. 

Knitting,  as  with  a  moral  band. 

Thy  native  legends  with  thy  land, 

To  lend  each  scene  the  interest  high 

Which  genius  beams  from  Beauty's  eye. 


47 


ROKEBY 

IV 

Bertram  awaited  not  the  sight 

Which  sunrise  shows  from  Barnard's  height, 

But  from  the  towers,  preventing  day, 

With  Wilfrid  took  his  early  way, 

While  misty  dawn  and  moonbeam  pale 

Still  mingled  in  the  silent  dale. 

By  Barnard's  bridge  of  stately  stone 

The  southern  bank  of  Tees  they  won ; 

Their  winding  path  then  eastward  cast, 

And  Eglistone's  grey  ruins  past ;  ^ 

Each  on  his  own  deep  visions  bent. 

Silent  and  sad  they  onward  went. 

Well  may  you  think  that  Bertram's  mood 

To  Wilfrid  savage  seemed  and  rude; 

Well  may  you  think  bold  Risingham 

Held  Wilfrid  trivial,  poor,  and  tame; 

And  small  the  intercourse,  I  ween, 

Such  uncongenial  souls  between. 

V 

Stern  Bertram  shunned  the  nearer  way 
Through  Rokeby's  park  and  chase  that  lay, 
And,  skirting  high  the  valley's  ridge, 
They  crossed  by  Greta's  ancient  bridge, 

«  See  Note  i2. 
48 


ROKEBY 

Descending  where  her  waters  wind 
Free  for  a  space  and  unconfined 
As,  'scaped  from  Brignall's  dark-wood  glen, 
She  seeks  wild  Mortham's  deeper  den. 
There,  as  his  eye  glanced  o'er  the  mound 
Raised  by  that  Legion  long  renowned  ^ 
Whose  votive  shrine  asserts  their  claim 
Of  pious,  faithful,  conquering  fame, 
'Stern  sons  of  war!'  sad  Wilfrid  sighed, 
'Behold  the  boast  of  Roman  pride! 
What  now  of  all  your  toils  are  known? 
A  grassy  trench,  a  broken  stone!'  — 
This  to  himself ;  for  moral  strain 
To  Bertram  were  addressed  in  vain. 

VI 

Of  different  mood  a  deeper  sigh 
Awoke  when  Rokeby's  turrets  high  ^ 
Were  northward  in  the  dawning  seen 
To  rear  them  o'er  the  thicket  green. 
O  then,  though  Spenser's  self  had  strayed 
Beside  him  through  the  lovely  glade, 
Lending  his  rich  luxuriant  glow 
Of  fancy  all  its  charms  to  show, 
Pointing  the  stream  rejoicing  free 
As  captive  set  at  liberty, 

»  See  Note  13.  '  See  Note  14. 

49  49 


ROKEBY 

Flashing  her  sparkling  waves  abroad, 
And  clamouring  joyful  on  her  road; 
Pointing  where,  up  the  sunny  banks, 
The  trees  retire  in  scattered  ranks. 
Save  where,  advanced  before  the  rest, 
On  knoll  or  hillock  rears  his  crest. 
Lonely  and  huge,  the  giant  Oak, 
As  champions  when  their  band  is  broke 
Stand  forth  to  guard  the  rearward  post, 
The  bulwark  of  the  scattered  host  — 
All  this  and  more  might  Spenser  say. 
Yet  waste  in  vain  his  magic  lay. 
While  Wilfrid  eyed  the  distant  tower 
Whose  lattice  lights  Matilda's  bower. 

VII 

The  open  vale  is  soon  passed  o'er, 
Rokeby,  though  nigh,  is  seen  no  more; 
Sinking  'mid  Greta's  thickets  deep, 
A  wild  and  darker  course  they  keep, 
A  stern  and  lone  yet  lovely  road  * 
As  e'er  the  foot  of  minstrel  trode ! 
Broad  shadows  o'er  their  passage  fell. 
Deeper  and  narrower  grew  the  dell ; 
It  seemed  some  mountain,  rent  and  riven, 
A  channel  for  the  stream  had  given, 

•  See  Note  is. 
50 


ROKEBY 

So  high  the  cliffs  of  limestone  grey 
Hung  beetling  o'er  the  torrent's  way, 
Yielding  along  their  rugged  base 
A  flinty  footpath's  niggard  space, 
Where  he  who  winds  'twixt  rock  and  wave 
May  hear  the  headlong  torrent  rave, 
And  like  a  steed  in  frantic  fit, 
That  flings  the  froth  from  curb  and  bit, 
May  view  her  chafe  her  waves  to  spray 
O'er  every  rock  that  bars  her  way, 
Till  foam-globes  on  her  eddies  ride, 
Thick  as  the  schemes  of  human  pride 
That  down  life's  current  drive  amain, 
As  frail,  as  frothy,  and  as  vain ! 

VIII 

The  cliffs  that  rear  their  haughty  head 
High  o'er  the  river's  darksome  bed 
Were  now  all  naked,  wild,  and  grey, 
Now  waving  all  with  greenwood  spray; 
Here  trees  to  every  crevice  clung 
And  o'er  the  dell  their  branches  hung; 
And  there,  all  splintered  and  uneven. 
The  shivered  rocks  ascend  to  heaven ; 
Oft,  too,  the  ivy  swathed  their  breast 
And  wreathed  its  garland  round  their  crest, 
Or  from  the  spires  bade  loosely  flare 

SI 


ROKEBY 

Its  tendrils  in  the  middle  air. 
As  pennons  wont  to  wave  of  old 
O'er  the  high  feast  of  baron  bold, 
When  revelled  loud  the  feudal  rout 
And  the  arched  halls  returned  their  shout, 
Such  and  more  wild  is  Greta's  roar, 
And  such  the  echoes  from  her  shore, 
And  so  the  ivied  banners  gleam, 
Waved  wildly  o'er  the  brawling  stream. 

IX 

Now  from  the  stream  the  rocks  recede, 
But  leave  between  no  sunny  mead. 
No,  nor  the  spot  of  pebbly  sand 
Oft  found  by  such  a  mountain  strand. 
Forming  such  warm  and  dry  retreat 
As  fancy  deems  the  lonely  seat 
Where  hermit,  wandering  from  his  cell, 
His  rosary  might  love  to  tell. 
But  here  'twixt  rock  and  river  grew 
A  dismal  grove  of  sable  yew, 
With  whose  sad  tints  were  mingled  seen 
The  blighted  fir's  sepulchral  green. 
Seemed  that  the  trees  their  shadows  cast 
The  earth  that  nourished  them  to  blast; 
For  never  knew  that  swarthy  grove 
The  verdant  hue  that  fairies  love, 
52 


ROKEBY 

Nor  wilding  green  nor  woodland  flower 

Arose  within  its  baleful  bower: 

The  dank  and  sable  earth  receives 

Its  only  carpet  from  the  leaves 

That,  from  the  withering  branches  cast, 

Bestrewed  the  ground  with  every  blast. 

Though  now  the  sun  was  o'er  the  hill, 

In  this  dark  spot  't  was  twilight  still, 

Save  that  on  Greta's  farther  side 

Some  straggling  beams  through  copsewood  glide ; 

And  wild  and  savage  contrast  made 

That  dingle's  deep  and  funeral  shade 

With  the  bright  tints  of  early  day, 

Which,  glimmering  through  the  ivy  spray, 

On  the  opposing  summit  lay. 

X 

The  'lated  peasant  shunned  the  dell ; 
For  Superstition  wont  to  tell 
Of  many  a  grisly  sound  and  sight. 
Scaring  its  path  at  dead  of  night. 
When  Christmas  logs  blaze  high  and  wide 
Such  wonders  speed  the  festal  tide. 
While  Curiosity  and  Fear, 
Pleasure  and  Pain,  sit  crouching  near. 
Till  childhood's  cheek  no  longer  glows. 
And  village  maidens  lose  the  rose. 
S3 


ROKEBY 

The  thrilling  interest  rises  higher, 

The  circle  closes  nigh  and  nigher, 

And  shuddering  glance  is  cast  behind, 

As  louder  moans  the  wintry  wind. 

Believe  that  fitting  scene  was  laid 

For  such  wild  tales  in  Mortham  glade; 

For  who  had  seen  on  Greta's  side 

By  that  dim  light  fierce  Bertram  stride, 

In  such  a  spot,  at  such  an  hour,  — 

If  touched  by  Superstition's  power, 

Might  well  have  deemed  that  Hell  had  given 

A  murderer's  ghost  to  upper  heaven. 

While  Wilfrid's  form  had  seemed  to  glide 

Like  his  pale  victim  by  his  side. 

XI 

Nor  think  to  village  swains  alone 
Are  these  unearthly  terrors  known, 
For  not  to  rank  nor  sex  confined 
Is  this  vain  ague  of  the  mind ; 
Hearts  firm  as  steel,  as  marble  hard, 
'Gainst  faith  and  love  and  pity  barred. 
Have  quaked,  like  aspen  leaves  in  May, 
Beneath  its  universal  sway. 
Bertram  had  listed  many  a  tale 
Of  wonder  in  his  native  dale, 
That  in  his  secret  soul  retained 
54 


ROKEBY 

The  credence  they  in  childhood  gained : 
Nor  less  his  wild  adventurous  youth 
Believed  in  every  legend's  truth; 
Learned  when  beneath  the  tropic  gale 
Full  swelled  the  vessel's  steady  sail, 
And  the  broad  Indian  moon  her  light 
Poured  on  the  watch  of  middle  night, 
When  seamen  love  to  hear  and  tell 
Of  portent,  prodigy,  and  spell : 
What  gales  are  sold  on  Lapland's  shore,* 
How  whistle  rash  bids  tempests  roar,^ 
Of  witch,  of  mermaid,  and  of  sprite, 
Of  Erick's  cap  and  Elmo's  light;' 
Or  of  that  Phantom  Ship  whose  form 
Shoots  like  a  meteor  through  the  storm 
When  the  dark  scud  comes  driving  hard, 
And  lowered  is  every  top-sail  yard. 
And  canvas  wove  in  earthly  looms 
No  more  to  brave  the  storm  presumes! 
Then  'mid  the  war  of  sea  and  sky. 
Top  and  top-gallant  hoisted  high, 
Full  spread  and  crowded  every  sail. 
The  Demon  Frigate  braves  the  gale,^ 
And  well  the  doomed  spectators  know 
The  harbinger  of  wreck  and  woe. 


«  See  Note  i6.  «  See  Note  17. 

'  See  Note  18.  *  See  Note  19. 


55 


ROKEBY 

XII 

Then,  too,  were  told  in  stifled  tone 
Marvels  and  omens  all  their  own ; 
How,  by  some  desert  isle  or  key,^ 
Where  Spaniards  wrought  their  cruelty, 
Or  where  the  savage  pirate's  mood 
Repaid  it  home  in  deeds  of  blood, 
Strange  nightly  sounds  of  woe  and  fear 
Appalled  the  listening  buccaneer, 
Whose  light-armed  shallop  anchored  lay 
In  ambush  by  the  lonely  bay. 
The  groan  of  grief,  the  shriek  of  pain, 
Ring  from  the  moonlight  groves  of  cane; 
The  fierce  adventurer's  heart  they  scare, 
Who  wearies  memory  for  a  prayer, 
Curses  the  roadstead,  and  with  gale 
Of  early  morning  lifts  the  sail, 
To  give,  in  thirst  of  blood  and  prey, 
A  legend  for  another  bay. 

XIII 

Thus,  as  a  man,  a  youth,  a  child, 
Trained  in  the  mystic  and  the  wild. 
With  this  on  Bertram's  soul  at  times 
Rushed  a  dark  feeling  of  his  crimes; 

»  See  Note  20. 

S6 


ROKEBY 

Such  to  his  troubled  soul  their  form 
As  the  pale  Death-ship  to  the  storm, 
And  such  their  omen  dim  and  dread 
As  shrieks  and  voices  of  the  dead. 
That  pang,  whose  transitory  force 
Hovered  'twixt  horror  and  remorse  — 
That  pang,  perchance,  his  bosom  pressed 
As  Wilfrid  sudden  he  addressed : 

'Wilfrid,  this  glen  is  never  trod 
Until  the  sun  rides  high  abroad, 
Yet  twice  have  I  beheld  to-day 
A  form  that  seemed  to  dog  our  way ; 
Twice  from  my  glance  it  seemed  to  flee 
And  shroud  itself  by  cliff  or  tree. 
How  think'st  thou?  —  Is  our  path  waylaid? 
Or  hath  thy  sire  my  trust  betrayed? 
If  so'  —  Ere,  starting  from  his  dream 
That  turned  upon  a  gentler  theme, 
Wilfrid  had  roused  him  to  reply, 
Bertram  sprung  forward,  shouting  high, 

'Whate'er  thou  art,  thou  now  shalt  stand!* 
And  forth  he  darted,  sword  in  hand. 

XIV 
As  bursts  the  levin  in  its  wrath, 
He  shot  him  down  the  sounding  path; 
Rock,  wood,  and  stream  rang  wildly  out 

57 


ROKEBY 

To  his  loud  step  and  savage  shout. 
Seems  that  the  object  of  his  race 
Hath  scaled  the  cliffs ;  his  frantic  chase 
Sidelong  he  turns,  and  now  't  is  bent 
Right  up  the  rock's  tall  battlement; 
Straining  each  sinew  to  ascend, 
Foot,  hand,  and  knee  their  aid  must  lend. 
Wilfrid,  all  dizzy  with  dismay, 
Views  from  beneath  his  dreadful  way: 
Now  to  the  oak's  warped  roots  he  clings, 
Now  trusts  his  weight  to  ivy  strings; 
Now,  like  the  wild-goat,  must  he  dare 
An  unsupported  leap  in  air; 
Hid  in  the  shrubby  rain-course  now, 
You  mark  him  by  the  crashing  bough, 
And  by  his  corselet's  sullen  clank, 
And  by  the  stones  spurned  from  the  bank. 
And  by  the  hawk  scared  from  her  nest, 
And  raven's  croaking  o'er  their  guest, 
Who  deem  his  forfeit  limbs  shall  pay 
The  tribute  of  his  bold  essay. 

XV 

See,  he  emerges !  —  desperate  now 
All  farther  course  —  yon  beetling  brow, 
In  craggy  nakedness  sublime, 
What  heart  or  foot  shall  dare  to  climb? 
58 


ROKEBY 

It  bears  no  tendril  for  his  clasp. 
Presents  no  angle  to  his  grasp : 
Sole  stay  his  foot  may  rest  upon 
Is  yon  earth-bedded  jetting  stone. 
Balanced  on  such  precarious  prop, 
He  strains  his  grasp  to  reach  the  top. 
Just  as  the  dangerous  stretch  he  makes, 
By  heaven,  his  faithless  footstool  shakes! 
Beneath  his  tottering  bulk  it  bends, 
It  sways,  it  loosens,  it  descends. 
And  downward  holds  its  headlong  way, 
Crashing  o'er  rock  and  copsewood  spray! 
Loud  thunders  shake  the  echoing  dell ! 
Fell  it  alone?  —  alone  it  fell. 
Just  on  the  very  verge  of  fate, 
The  hardy  Bertram's  falling  weight 
He  trusted  to  his  sinewy  hands. 
And  on  the  top,  unharmed,  he  stands! 

XVI 

Wilfrid  a  safer  path  pursued. 
At  intervals  where,  roughly  hewed. 
Rude  steps  ascending  from  the  dell 
Rendered  the  cliffs  accessible. 
By  circuit  slow  he  thus  attained 
The  height  that  Risingham  had  gained, 
And  when  he  issued  from  the  wood 
59 


ROKEBY 

Before  the  gate  of  Mortham  stood.  ^ 
'T  was  a  fair  scene !  the  sunbeam  lay 
On  battled  tower  and  portal  grey; 
And  from  the  grassy  slope  he  sees 
The  Greta  flow  to  meet  the  Tees 
Where,  issuing  from  her  darksome  bed, 
She  caught  the  morning's  eastern  red, 
And  through  the  softening  vale  below 
Rolled  her  bright  waves  in  rosy  glow, 
All  blushing  to  her  bridal  bed, 
Like  some  shy  maid  in  convent  bred. 
While  linnet,  lark,  and  blackbird  gay 
Sing  forth  her  nuptial  roundelay. 

XVII 

*T  was  sweetly  sung  that  roundelay, 
That  summer  morn  shone  blithe  and  gay; 
But  morning  beam  and  wild-bird's  call 
Awaked  not  Mortham's  silent  hall. 
No  porter  by  the  low-browed  gate 
Took  in  the  wonted  niche  his  seat; 
To  the  paved  court  no  peasant  drew; 
Waked  to  their  toil  no  menial  crew; 
The  maiden's  carol  was  not  heard, 
As  to  her  morning  task  she  fared : 
In  the  void  offices  around 

>  See  Note  21. 
60 


ROKEBY 

Rung  not  a  hoof  nor  bayed  a  hound ; 
Nor  eager  steed  with  shrilling  neigh 
Accused  the  lagging  groom's  delay; 
Untrimmed,  undressed,  neglected  now, 
Was  alleyed  walk  and  orchard  bough ; 
All  spoke  the  master's  absent  care, 
All  spoke  neglect  and  disrepair. 
South  of  the  gate  an  arrow  flight, 
Two  mighty  elms  their  limbs  unite, 
As  if  a  canopy  to  spread 
O'er  the  lone  dwelling  of  the  dead ; 
For  their  huge  boughs  in  arches  bent 
Above  a  massive  monument, 
Carved  o'er  in  ancient  Gothic  wise 
With  many  a  scutcheon  and  device: 
There,  spent  with  toil  and  sunk  in  gloom, 
Bertram  stood  pondering  by  the  tomb. 

XVIII 

*It  vanished  like  a  flitting  ghost! 
Behind  this  tomb,'  he  said,  "t  was  lost  — 
This  tomb  where  oft  I  deemed  lies  stored 
Of  Mortham's  Indian  wealth  the  hoard. 
*T  is  true,  the  aged  servants  said 
Here  his  lamented  wife  is  laid ; 
But  weightier  reasons  may  be  guessed 
For  their  lord's  strict  and  stern  behest 
6i 


ROKEBY 

That  none  should  on  his  steps  intrude 
Whene'er  he  sought  this  solitude. 
An  ancient  mariner  I  knew, 
What  time  I  sailed  with  Morgan's  crew, 
Who  oft  'mid  our  carousals  spake 
Of  Raleigh,  Frobisher,  and  Drake; 
Adventurous  hearts!  who  bartered,  bold, 
Their  English  steel  for  Spanish  gold. 
Trust  not,  would  his  experience  say. 
Captain  or  comrade  with  your  prey^, 
But  seek  some  charnel,  when,  at  full, 
The  moon  gilds  skeleton  and  skull : 
There  dig  and  tomb  your  precious  heap,* 
And  bid  the  dead  your  treasure  keep; 
Sure  stewards  they,  if  fitting  spell 
Their  service  to  the  task  compel. 
Lacks  there  such  charnel?  —  kill  a  slave 
Or  prisoner  on  the  treasure-grave, 
And  bid  his  discontented  ghost 
Stalk  nightly  on  his  lonely  post. 
Such  was  his  tale.   Its  truth,  I  ween, 
Is  in  my  morning  vision  seen.' 

XIX 

Wilfrid,  who  scorned  the  legend  wild, 
In  mingled  mirth  and  pity  smiled, 

•  See  Note  22. 
62 


ROKEBY 

Much  marvelling  that  a  breast  so  bold 
In  such  fond  tale  belief  should  hold, 
But  yet  of  Bertram  sought  to  know 
The  apparition's  form  and  show. 
The  power  within  the  guilty  breast, 
Oft  vanquished,  never  quite  suppressed, 
That  unsubdued  and  lurking  lies 
To  take  the  felon  by  surprise 
And  force  him,  as  by  magic  spell,^ 
In  his  despite  his  guilt  to  tell  — 
That  power  in  Bertram's  breast  awoke; 
Scarce  conscious  he  was  heard,  he  spoke: 

*'T  was  Mortham's  form,  from  foot  to  head! 
His  morion  with  the  plume  of  red. 
His  shape,  his  mien  —  't  was  Mortham,  right 
As  when  I  slew  him  in  the  fight.'  — 

'Thou  slay  him?  —  thou?' — With  conscious 

start 
He  heard,  then  manned  his  haughty  heart  — 

*  I  slew  him?  —  I !  —  I  had  forgot 
Thou,  stripling,  knew'st  not  of  the  plot. 
But  it  is  spoken  —  nor  will  I 
Deed  done  or  spoken  word  deny. 
I  slew  him ;  I !  for  thankless  pride ; 
*T  was  by  this  hand  that  Mortham  died.* 

*  See  Note  33. 


63 


ROKEBY 


XX 


Wilfrid,  of  gentle  hand  and  heart, 
Averse  to  every  active  part, 
But  most  adverse  to  martial  broil, 
From  danger  shrunk  and  turned  from  toil ; 
Yet  the  meek  lover  of  the  lyre 
Nursed  one  brave  spark  of  noble  fire ; 
Against  injustice,  fraud,  or  wrong 
His  blood  beat  high,  his  hand  waxed  strong. 
Not  his  the  nerves  that  could  sustain, 
Unshaken,  danger,  toil,  and  pain; 
But,  when  that  spark  blazed  forth  to  fllame, 
He  rose  superior  to  his  frame. 
And  now  it  came,  that  generous  mood ; 
And,  in  full  current  of  his  blood, 
On  Bertram  he  laid  desperate  hand. 
Placed  firm  his  foot,  and  drew  his  brand. 
'  Should  every  fiend  to  whom  thou  'rt  sold 
Rise  in  thine  aid,  I  keep  my  hold.  — 
Arouse  there,  ho !  take  spear  and  sword ! 
Attach  the  murderer  of  your  lord ! ' 

XXI 

A  moment,  fixed  as  by  a  spell, 
Stood  Bertram  —  it  seemed  miracle, 
64 


ROKEBY 

That  one  so  feeble,  soft,  and  tame 
Set  grasp  on  warlike  Risingham. 
But  when  he  felt  a  feeble  stroke 
The  fiend  within  the  ruffian  woke! 
To  wrench  the  sword  from  Wilfrid's  hand, 
To  dash  him  headlong  on  the  sand, 
Was  but  one  moment's  work,  —  one  more 
Had  drenched  the  blade  in  Wilfred's  gore. 
But  in  the  instant  it  arose 
To  end  his  life,  his  love,  his  woes, 
A  warlike  form  that  marked  the  scene 
Presents  his  rapier  sheathed  between. 
Parries  the  fast-descending  blow, 
And  steps  'twixt  Wilfrid  and  his  foe; 
Nor  then  unscabbarded  his  brand, 
But,  sternly  pointing  with  his  hand. 
With  monarch's  voice  forbade  the  fight, 
And  motioned  Bertram  from  his  sight. 
'Go,  and  repent,'  he  said,  'while  time 
Is  given  thee;  add  not  crime  to  crime.' 


XXII 

Mute  and  uncertain  and  amazed. 
As  on  a  vision  Bertram  gazed ! 
'T  was  Mortham's  bearing,  bold  and  high, 
His  sinewy  frame,  his  falcon  eye, 
4d  65 


ROKEBY 

His  look  and  accent  of  command, 
The  martial  gesture  of  his  hand, 
His  stately  form,  spare-built  and  tall. 
His  war-bleached  locks  —  't  was  Mortham  all. 
Through  Bertram's  dizzy  brain  career 
A  thousand  thoughts,  and  all  of  fear; 
His  wavering  faith  received  not  quite 
The  form  he  saw  as  Mortham's  sprite, 
But  more  he  feared  it  if  it  stood 
His  lord  in  living  flesh  and  blood. 
What  spectre  can  the  charnel  send. 
So  dreadful  as  an  injured  friend? 
Then,  too,  the  habit  of  command, 
Used  by  the  leader  of  the  band 
When  Risingham  for  many  a  day 
Had  marched  and  fought  beneath  his  sway, 
Tamed  him  —  and  with  reverted  face 
Backwards  he  bore  his  sullen  pace, 
Oft  stopped,  and  oft  on  Mortham  stared, 
And  dark  as  rated  mastiff  glared. 
But  when  the  tramp  of  steeds  was  heard 
Plunged  in  the  glen  and  disappeared ; 
Nor  longer  there  the  warrior  stood, 
Retiring  eastward  through  the  wood. 
But  first  to  Wilfrid  warning  gives, 
'Tell  thou  to  none  that  Mortham  lives.' 


66 


ROKEBY 

XXIII 

Still  rung  these  words  in  Wilfrid's  eart 
Hinting  he  knew  not  what  of  fear, 
When  nearer  came  the  coursers'  tread, 
And,  with  his  father  at  their  head, 
Of  horsemen  armed  a  gallant  power 
Reined  up  their  steeds  before  the  tower. 
'Whence  these  pale  looks,  my  son?'  he  said: 
'Where's  Bertram?  Why  that  naked  blade?' 
Wilfrid  ambiguously  replied  — 
For  Mortham's  charge  his  honour  tied  — 
*  Bertram  is  gone  —  the  villain's  word 
Avouched  him  murderer  of  his  lord ! 
Even  now  we  fought  —  but  when  your  tread 
Announced  you  nigh,  the  felon  fled.' 
In  Wycliffe's  conscious  eye  appear 
A  guilty  hope,  a  guilty  fear; 
On  his  pale  brow  the  dew-drop  broke, 
And  his  lip  quivered  as  he  spoke : 

XXIV 

*A  murderer!  —  Philip  Mortham  died 
Amid  the  battle's  wildest  tide. 
Wilfrid,  or  Bertram  raves  or  you! 
Yet,  grant  such  strange  confession  true. 
Pursuit  were  vain  —  let  him  fly  far  — 
67 


ROKEBY 

Justice  must  sleep  in  civil  war.* 
A  gallant  youth  rode  near  his  side, 
Brave  Rokeby's  page,  in  battle  tried; 
That  morn  an  embassy  of  weight 
He  brought  to  Barnard's  castle-gate, 
And  followed  now  in  WycHffe's  train 
An  answer  for  his  lord  to  gain. 
His  steed,  whose  arched  and  sable  neck 
An  hundred  wreaths  of  foam  bedeck, 
Chafed  not  against  the  curb  more  high 
Than  he  at  Oswald's  cold  reply; 
He  bit  his  lip,  implored  his  saint  — 
His  the  old  faith  —  then  burst  restraint : 

XXV 

'Yes!  I  beheld  his  bloody  fall 
By  that  base  traitor's  dastard  ball, 
Just  when  I  thought  to  measure  sword. 
Presumptuous  hope!  with  Mortham's  lord. 
And  shall  the  murderer  'scape  who  slew 
His  leader,  generous,  brave,  and  true? 
Escape,  while  on  the  dew  you  trace 
The  marks  of  his  gigantic  pace? 
No !  ere  the  sun  that  dew  shall  dry. 
False  Risingham  shall  yield  or  die.  — 
Ring  out  the  castle  larum-bell ! 
Arouse  the  peasants  with  the  knell  I 
68 


ROKEBY 

Meantime  disperse  —  ride,  gallants,  ride! 
Beset  the  wood  on  every  side. 
But  if  among  you  one  there  be 
That  honours  Mortham's  memory, 
Let  him  dismount  and  follow  me! 
Else  on  your  crests  sit  fear  and  shame, 
And  foul  suspicion  dog  your  name!' 


XXVI 

Instant  to  earth  young  Redmond  sprung; 

Instant  on  earth  the  harness  rung 

Of  twenty  men  of  Wycliffe's  band. 

Who  waited  not  their  lord's  command. 

Redmond  his  spurs  from  buskins  drew, 

His  mantle  from  his  shoulders  threw, 

His  pistols  in  his  belt  he  placed, 

The  greenwood  gained,  the  footsteps  traced. 

Shouted  like  huntsman  to  his  hounds. 
'To  cover,  hark!'  —  and  in  he  bounds. 

Scarce  heard  was  Oswald's  anxious  cry, 
'Suspicion!  yes  —  pursue  him  —  fly  — 

But  venture  not  in  useless  strife 

On  ruffian  desperate  of  his  life; 

Whoever  finds  him  shoot  him  dead ! 

Five  hundred  nobles  for  his  head ! ' 


69 


ROKEBY 

XXVII 

The  horsemen  galloped  to  make  good 

Each  path  that  issued  from  the  wood. 

Loud  from  the  thickets  rung  the  shout 

Of  Redmond  and  his  eager  rout; 

With  them  was  Wilfrid,  stung  with  ire, 

And  envying  Redmond's  martial  fire, 

And  emulous  of  fame.  —  But  where 

Is  Oswald,  noble  Mortham's  heir? 

He,  bound  by  honour,  law,  and  faith, 

Avenger  of  his  kinsman's  death?  — 

Leaning  against  the  elmin  tree, 

With  drooping  head  and  slackened  knee. 

And  clenched  teeth,  and  close-clasped  hands. 

In  agony  of  soul  he  stands! 

His  downcast  eye  on  earth  is  bent. 

His  soul  to  every  sound  is  lent; 

For  in  each  shout  that  cleaves  the  air 

May  ring  discovery  and  despair. 

XXVIII 

What  'vailed  it  him  that  brightly  played 
The  morning  sun  on  Mortham's  glade? 
All  seems  in  giddy  round  to  ride. 
Like  objects  on  a  stormy  tide 
Seen  eddying  by  the  moonlight  dim, 
70 


ROKEBY 

Imperfectly  to  sink  and  swim. 
What  'vailed  it  that  the  fair  domain, 
Its  battled  mansion,  hill,  and  plain, 
On  which  the  sun  so  brightly  shone, 
Envied  so  long,  was  now  his  own? 
The  lowest  dungeon,  in  that  hour. 
Of  Brackenbury's  dismal  tower,  ^ 
Had  been  his  choice,  could  such  a  doom 
Have  opened  Mortham's  bloody  tomb! 
Forced,  too,  to  turn  unwilling  ear 
To  each  surmise  of  hope  or  fear. 
Murmured  among  the  rustics  round. 
Who  gathered  at  the  larum  sound, 
He  dare  not  turn  his  head  away. 
Even  to  look  up  to  heaven  to  pray, 
Or  call  on  hell  in  bitter  mood 
For  one  sharp  death-shot  from  the  wood ! 

XXIX 

At  length  o'er-past  that  dreadful  space. 
Back  straggling  came  the  scattered  chase; 
Jaded  and  weary,  horse  and  man. 
Returned  the  troopers  one  by  one. 
Wilfrid  the  last  arrived  to  say 
All  trace  was  lost  of  Bertram's  way, 
Though  Redmond  still  up  Brignall  wood 

»  See  Note  24. 
71 


ROKEBY 

The  hopeless  quest  in  vain  pursued. 
O,  fatal  doom  of  human  race ! 
What  tyrant  passions  passions  chase! 
Remorse  from  Oswald's  brow  is  gone, 
Avarice  and  pride  resume  their  throne; 
The  pang  of  instant  terror  by, 
They  dictate  thus  their  slave's  reply : 

XXX 

*  Ay  —  let  him  range  like  hasty  hound ! 
And  if  the  grim  wolf's  lair  be  found, 
Small  is  my  care  how  goes  the  game 
With  Redmond  or  with  Risingham.  — 
Nay,  answer  not,  thou  simple  boy! 
Thy  fair  Matilda,  all  so  coy 
To  thee,  is  of  another  mood 
To  that  bold  youth  of  Erin's  blood. 
Thy  ditties  will  she  freely  praise, 
And  pay  thy  pains  with  courtly  phrase; 
In  a  rough  path  will  oft  command  — 
Accept  at  least  —  thy  friendly  hand; 
His  she  avoids,  or,  urged  and  prayed, 
Unwilling  takes  his  proffered  aid. 
While  conscious  passion  plainly  speaks 
In  downcast  look  and  blushing  cheeks. 
Whene'er  he  sings  will  she  glide  nigh, 
And  all  her  soul  is  in  her  eye; 
72 


ROKEBY 

Yet  doubts  she  still  to  tender  free 

The  wonted  words  of  courtesy. 

These  are  strong  signs!  —  yet  wherefore  sigh, 

And  wipe,  effeminate,  thine  eye? 

Thine  shall  she  be,  if  thou  attend 

The  counsels  of  thy  sire  and  friend. 

XXXI 

'Scarce  wert  thou  gone,  when  peep  of  light 
Brought  genuine  news  of  Marston's  fight. 
Brave  Cromwell  turned  the  doubtful  tide, 
And  conquest  blessed  the  rightful  side ; 
Three  thousand  cavaliers  lie  dead, 
Rupert  and  that  bold  Marquis  fled ; 
Nobles  and  knights,  so  proud  of  late, 
Must  fine  for  freedom  and  estate. 
Of  these  committed  to  my  charge 
Is  Rokeby,  prisoner  at  large ; 
Redmond  his  page  arrived  to  say 
He  reaches  Barnard's  towers  to-day. 
Right  heavy  shall  his  ransom  be  ^ 
Unless  that  maid  compound  with  thee! 
Go  to  her  now  —  be  bold  of  cheer 
While  her  soul  floats  'twixt  hope  and  fear; 
It  is  the  very  change  of  tide, 
When  best  the  female  heart  is  tried  — 

*  See  Note  25. 

73 


ROKEBY 

Pride,  prejudice,  and  modesty, 
Are  in  the  current  swept  to  sea, 
And  the  bold  swain  who  plies  his  oar 
May  lightly  row  his  bark  to  shore.* 


CANTO  THIRD 

I 

The  hunting  tribes  of  air  and  earth 
Respect  the  brethren  of  their  birth ; 
Nature,  who  loves  the  claim  of  kind, 
Less  cruel  chase  to  each  assigned. 
The  falcon,  poised  on  soaring  wing, 
Watches  the  wild -duck  by  the  spring; 
The  slow-hound  wakes  the  fox's  lair; 
The  greyhound  presses  on  the  hare ; 
The  eagle  pounces  on  the  lamb ; 
[The  wolf  devours  the  fleecy  dam: 
Even  tiger  fell  and  sullen  bear 
Their  likeness  and  their  lineage  spare; 
Man  only  mars  kind  Nature's  plan, 
And  turns  the  fierce  pursuit  on  man, 
Plying  war's  desultory  trade, 
Incursion,  flight,  and  ambuscade. 
Since  Nimrod,  Cush's  mighty  son, 
At  first  the  bloody  game  begun. 

II 

The  Indian,  prowling  for  his  prey. 
Who  hears  the  settlers  track  his  way, 
75 


ROKEBY 

And  knows  in  distant  forest  far 

Camp  his  red  brethren  of  the  war  — 

He,  when  each  double  and  disguise 

To  baffle  the  pursuit  he  tries, 

Low  crouching  now  his  head  to  hide 

Where  swampy  streams  through  rushes  glide, 

Now  covering  with  the  withered  leaves  ^ 

The  footprints  that  the  dew  receives  — 

He,  skilled  in  every  sylvan  guile. 

Knows  not,  nor  tries,  such  various  wile 

As  Risingham  when  on  the  wind 

Arose  the  loud  pursuit  behind. 

In  Redesdale  his  youth  had  heard 

Each  art  her  wily  dalesman  dared, 

When  Rooken-edge  and  Redswair  high 

To  bugle  rung  and  blood-hound's  cry,^ 

Announcing  Jedwood-axe  and  spear, 

And  Lid'sdale  riders  in  the  rear; 

And  well  his  venturous  life  had  proved 

The  lessons  that  his  childhood  loved. 

Ill 

Oft  had  he  shown  in  climes  afar 
Each  attribute  of  roving  war; 
The  sharpened  ear,  the  piercing  eye, 
The  quick  resolve  in  danger  nigh ; 

>  See  Note  26.  '  See  Note  27. 

76 


ROKEBY 

The  speed  that  in  the  flight  or  chase 
Outstripped  the  Charib's  rapid  race; 
The  steady  brain,  the  sinewy  limb, 
To  leap,  to  climb,  to  dive,  to  swim ; 
The  iron  frame,  inured  to  bear 
Each  dire  inclemency  of  air, 
Nor  less  confirmed  to  undergo 
Fatigue's  faint  chill  and  famine's  throe. 
These  arts  he  proved,  his  life  to  save, 
In  peril  oft  by  land  and  wave, 
On  Arawaca's  desert  shore, 
Or  where  La  Plata's  billows  roar, 
,When  oft  the  sons  of  vengeful  Spain 
Tracked  the  marauder's  steps  in  vain. 
These  arts,  in  Indian  warfare  tried, 
Must  save  him  now  by  Greta's  side. 

IV 

*T  was  then,  in  hour  of  utmost  need, 

He  proved  his  courage,  art,  and  speed. 

Now  slow  he  stalked  with  stealthy  pace. 

Now  started  forth  in  rapid  race. 

Oft  doubling  back  in  mazy  train 

To  blind  the  trace  the  dews  retain ; 

Now  clomb  the  rocks  projecting  high 

To  baffle  the  pursuer's  eye ; 

Now  sought  the  stream,  whose  brawling  sound 

77 


ROKEBY 

The  echo  of  his  footsteps  drowned. 

But  if  the  forest  verge  he  nears, 

There  trample  steeds,  and  glimmer  spears; 

If  deeper  down  the  copse  he  drew, 

He  heard  the  rangers'  loud  halloo. 

Beating  each  cover  while  they  came, 

As  if  to  start  the  sylvan  game. 

'T  was  then  —  like  tiger  close  beset 

At  every  pass  with  toil  and  net, 

'Countered  where'er  he  turns  his  glare 

By  clashing  arms  and  torches'  flare, 

Who  meditates  with  furious  bound 

To  burst  on  hunter,  horse  and  hound  — 

'T  was  then  that  Bertram's  soul  arose. 

Prompting  to  rush  upon  his  foes: 

But  as  that  crouching  tiger,  cowed 

By  brandished  steel  and  shouting  crowd, 

Retreats  beneath  the  jungle's  shroud, 

Bertram  suspends  his  purpose  stern. 

And  crouches  in  the  brake  and  fern, 

Hiding  his  face  lest  foemen  spy 

The  sparkle  of  his  swarthy  eye.* 

V 

Then  Bertram  might  the  bearing  trace 
Of  the  bold  youth  who  led  the  chase ; 

>  See  Note  28. 
78 


ROKEBY 

Who  paused  to  list  for  every  sound, 
Climbed  every  height  to  look  around, 
Then  rushing  on  with  naked  sword. 
Each  dingle's  bosky  depths  explored. 
'T  was  Redmond  —  by  the  azure  eye ; 
'T  was  Redmond  —  by  the  locks  that  fly 
Disordered  from  his  glowing  cheek ; 
Mien,  face,  and  form  young  Redmond  speak. 
A  form  more  active,  light,  and  strong, 
Ne'er  shot  the  ranks  of  war  along ; 
The  modest  yet  the  manly  mien 
Might  grace  the  court  of  maiden  queen; 
A  face  more  fair  you  well  might  find. 
For  Redmond's  knew  the  sun  and  wind, 
Nor  boasted,  from  their  tinge  when  free, 
The  charm  of  regularity; 
But  every  feature  had  the  power 
To  aid  the  expression  of  the  hour : 
Whether  gay  wit  and  humour  sly 
Danced  laughing  in  his  light-blue  eye. 
Or  bended  brow  and  glance  of  fire 
And  kindling  cheek  spoke  Erin's  ire. 
Or  soft  and  saddened  glances  show 
Her  ready  sympathy  with  woe ; 
Or  in  that  wayward  mood  of  mind 
When  various  feelings  are  combined, 
When  joy  and  sorrow  mingle  near, 
79 


ROKEBY 

And  hope's  bright  wings  are  checked  by  fear, 
And  rising  doubts  keep  transport  down, 
And  anger  lends  a  short-lived  frown ; 
In  that  strange  mood  which  maids  approve 
Even  when  they  dare  not  call  it  love  — 
With  every  change  his  features  played, 
As  aspens  show  the  light  and  shade. 

VI 

Well  Risingham  young  Redmond  knew, 
And  much  he  marvelled  that  the  crew 
Roused  to  revenge  bold  Mortham  dead 
Were  by  that  Mortham 's  foeman  led ; 
For  never  felt  his  soul  the  woe 
That  wails  a  generous  foeman  low, 
Far  less  that  sense  of  justice  strong 
That  wreaks  a  generous  foeman's  wrong. 
But  small  his  leisure  now  to  pause ; 
Redmond  is  first,  whate'er  the  cause: 
And  twice  that  Redmond  came  so  near 
Where  Bertram  couched  like  hunted  deer, 
The  very  boughs  his  steps  displace 
Rustled  against  the  ruffian's  face, 
Who  desperate  twice  prepared  to  start, 
And  plunge  his  dagger  in  his  heart! 
But  Redmond  turned  a  different  way. 
And  the  bent  boughs  resumed  their  sway, 
80 


ROKEBY 

And  Bertram  held  it  wise,  unseen, 
Deeper  to  plunge  in  coppice  green. 
Thus,  circled  in  his  coil,  the  snake. 
When  roving  hunters  beat  the  brake, 
Watches  with  red  and  glistening  eye, 
Prepared,  if  heedless  step  draw  nigh, 
With  forked  tongue  and  venomed  fang 
Instant  to  dart  the  deadly  pang; 
But  if  the  intruders  turn  aside, 
Away  his  coils  unfolded  glide, 
And  through  the  deep  savannah  wind, 
Some  undisturbed  retreat  to  find. 

VII 

But  Bertram,  as  he  backward  drew. 
And  heard  the  loud  pursuit  renew. 
And  Redmond's  hollo  on  the  wind, 
Oft  muttered  in  his  savage  mind  — 
'Redmond  O'Neale!  were  thou  and  I 
Alone  this  day's  event  to  try. 
With  not  a  second  here  to  see 
But  the  grey  cliff  and  oaken  tree, 
That  voice  of  thine  that  shouts  so  loud 
Should  ne'er  repeat  its  summons  proud! 
No !  nor  e'er  try  its  melting  power 
Again  in  maiden's  summer  bower.' 
Eluded,  now  behind  him  die 
49  8i 


ROKEBY 

Faint  and  more  faint  each  hostile  cry; 
He  stands  in  Scargill  wood  alone, 
Nor  hears  he  now  a  harsher  tone 
Than  the  hoarse  cushat's  plaintive  cry, 
Or  Greta's  sound  that  murmurs  by; 
And  on  the  dale,  so  lone  and  wild, 
The  summer  sun  in  quiet  smiled. 

VIII 

He  listened  long  with  anxious  heart, 
Ear  bent  to  hear  and  foot  to  start, 
And,  while  his  stretched  attention  glows. 
Refused  his  weary  frame  repose. 
'T  was  silence  all  —  he  laid  him  down. 
Where  purple  heath  profusely  strown, 
And  throatwort  with  its  azure  bell,^ 
And  moss  and  thyme  his  cushion  swell. 
There,  spent  with  toil,  he  listless  eyed 
The  course  of  Greta's  playful  tide; 
Beneath  her  banks  now  eddying  dun. 
Now  brightly  gleaming  to  the  sun, 
As,  dancing  over  rock  and  stone, 
In  yellow  light  her  currents  shone, 
Matching  in  hue  the  favourite  gem 
Of  Albin's  mountain-diadem. 
Then,  tired  to  watch  the  currents  play, 

I  See  Note  29. 
82 


ROKEBY 

He  turned  his  weary  eyes  away 

To  where  the  bank  opposing  showed 

Its  huge,  square  cliffs  through  shaggy  wood. 

One,  prominent  above  the  rest, 

Reared  to  the  sun  its  pale  grey  breast; 

Around  its  broken  summit  grew 

The  hazel  rude  and  sable  yew ; 

A  thousand  varied  lichens  dyed 

Its  waste  and  weather-beaten  side, 

And  round  its  rugged  basis  lay, 

By  time  or  thunder  rent  away, 

Fragments  that  from  its  frontlet  torn 

Were  mantled  now  by  verdant  thorn. 

Such  was  the  scene's  wild  majesty 

That  filled  stern  Bertram's  gazing  eye. 

IX 

In  sullen  mood  he  lay  reclined, 
Revolving  in  his  stormy  mind 
The  felon  deed,  the  fruitless  guilt. 
His  patron's  blood  by  treason  spilt; 
A  crime,  it  seemed,  so  dire  and  dread 
That  it  had  power  to  wake  the  dead. 
Then,  pondering  on  his  life  betrayed 
By  Oswald's  art  to  Redmond's  blade, 
In  treacherous  purpose  to  withhold, 
So  seemed  it,  Mortham's  promised  gold, 
83 


ROKEBY 

A  deep  and  full  revenge  he  vowed 

On  Redmond,  forward,  fierce,  and  proud; 

Revenge  on  Wilfrid  —  on  his  sire 

Redoubled  vengeance,  swift  and  dire!  — 

If,  in  such  mood  —  as  legends  say, 

And  well  believed  that  simple  day  — 

The  Enemy  of  Man  has  power 

To  profit  by  the  evil  hour, 

Here  stood  a  wretch  prepared  to  change 

His  soul's  redemption  for  revenge!^ 

But  though  his  vows  with  such  a  fire 

Of  earnest  and  intense  desire 

For  vengeance  dark  and  fell  were  made 

As  well  might  reach  hell's  lowest  shade, 

No  deeper  clouds  the  grove  embrowned, 

No  nether  thunders  shook  the  ground ; 

The  demon  knew  his  vassal's  heart. 

And  spared  temptation's  needless  art. 

X 

Oft,  mingled  with  the  direful  theme, 

Came  Mortham's  form  —  was  it  a  dream? 

Or  had  he  seen  in  vision  true 

That  very  Mortham  whom  he  slew? 

Or  had  in  living  flesh  appeared 

The  only  man  on  earth  he  feared  ?  — 

I  See  Note  30. 
84 


ROKEBY 

To  try  the  mystic  cause  intent, 
His  eyes  that  on  the  chff  were  bent 
'Countered  at  once  a  dazzling  glance, 
Like  sunbeam  flashed  from  sword  or  lance. 
At  once  he  started  as  for  fight. 
But  not  a  foeman  was  in  sight ; 
He  heard  the  cushat's  murmur  hoarse, 
He  heard  the  river's  sounding  course; 
The  solitary  woodlands  lay, 
As  slumbering  in  the  summer  ray. 
He  gazed,  like  lion  roused,  around. 
Then  sunk  again  upon  the  ground. 
'T  was  but,  he  thought,  some  fitful  beam. 
Glanced  sudden  from  the  sparkling  stream ; 
Then  plunged  him  in  his  gloomy  train 
Of  ill-connected  thoughts  again. 
Until  a  voice  behind  him  cried, 
'Bertram!  well  met  on  Greta-side.' 

XI 

Instant  his  sword  was  in  his  hand. 
As  instant  sunk  the  ready  brand ; 
Yet,  dubious  still,  opposed  he  stood 
To  him  that  issued  from  the  wood : 

'Guy  Denzil!  —  is  it  thou?'  he  said; 

'  Do  we  two  meet  in  Scargill  shade !  — 
Stand  back  a  space !  —  thy  purpose  show, 
85 


ROKEBY 

Whether  thou  comest  as  friend  or  foe. 
Report  hath  said,  that  Denzil's  name 
From  Rokeby's  band  was  razed  with  shame'  — 
*A  shame  I  owe  that  hot  O'Neale, 
Who  told  his  knight  in  peevish  zeal 
Of  my  marauding  on  the  clowns  ^ 
Of  Calverley  and  Bradford  downs. 
I  reck  not.   In  a  war  to  strive, 
Where  save  the  leaders  none  can  thrive, 
Suits  ill  my  mood ;  and  better  game 
Awaits  us  both,  if  thou  'rt  the  same 
Unscrupulous,  bold  Risingham 
Who  watched  with  me  in  midnight  dark 
To  snatch  a  deer  from  Rokeby  Park. 
How  think'st  thou?'  —  'Speak  thy  purpose  out; 
I  love  not  mystery  or  doubt.'  — 

XII 

*Then  list.  —  Not  far  there  lurk  a  crew 
Of  trusty  comrades  staunch  and  true. 
Gleaned  from  both  factions  —  Roundheads,  freed 
From  cant  of  sermon  and  of  creed, 
And  Cavaliers,  whose  souls  like  mine 
Spurn  at  the  bonds  of  discipline. 
Wiser,  we  judge,  by  dale  and  wold 
A  warfare  of  our  own  to  hold 

>  See  Note  31. 

86 


ROKEBY 

Than  breathe  our  last  on  battle-down 
For  cloak  or  surplice,  mace  or  crown. 
Our  schemes  are  laid,  our  purpose  set, 
A  chief  and  leader  lack  we  yet. 
Thou  art  a  wanderer,  it  is  said, 
For  Mortham's  death  thy  steps  waylaid, 
Thy  head  at  price  —  so  say  our  spies,  . 
Who  ranged  the  valley  in  disguise. 
Join  then  with  us :  though  wild  debate 
And  wrangling  rend  our  infant  state. 
Each,  to  an  equal  loth  to  bow, 
Will  yield  to  chief  renowned  as  thou.*  — 

XIII 

'Even  now,'  thought  Bertram,  passion-stirred, 

*I  called  on  hell,  and  hell  has  heard! 
What  lack  I,  vengeance  to  command. 
But  of  staunch  comrades  such  a  band? 
This  Denzil,  vowed  to  every  evil, 
Might  read  a  lesson  to  the  devil. 
Well,  be  it  so !  each  knave  and  fool 
Shall  serve  as  my  revenge's  tool.'  — 
Aloud,  'I  take  thy  proffer,  Guy, 
But  tell  me  where  thy  comrades  lie.* 

'Not  far  from  hence,'  Guy  Denzil  said; 

'Descend  and  cross  the  river's  bed 
Where  rises  yonder  cliff  so  grey.' 
87 


ROKEBY 

*Do  thou,'  said  Bertram,  'lead  the  way.* 
Then  muttered,  'It  is  best  make  sure; 
Guy  Denzil's  faith  was  never  pure.' 
He  followed  down  the  steep  descent. 
Then  through  the  Greta's  streams  they  went; 
And  when  they  reached  the  farther  shore 
They  stood  the  lonely  cliff  before. 

XIV 

With  wonder  Bertram  heard  within 

The  flinty  rock  a  murmured  din; 

But  when  Guy  pulled  the  wilding  spray 

And  brambles  from  its  base  away, 

He  saw  appearing  to  the  air 

A  little  entrance  low  and  square. 

Like  opening  cell  of  hermit  lone, 

Dark  winding  through  the  living  stone. 

Here  entered  Denzil,  Bertram  here; 

And  loud  and  louder  on  their  ear, 

As  from  the  bowels  of  the  earth, 

Resounded  shouts  of  boisterous  mirth. 

Of  old  the  cavern  strait  and  rude 

In  slaty  rock  the  peasant  hewed ; 

And  Brignall's  woods  and  Scargill's  wave  ' 

E'en  now  o'er  many  a  sister  cave. 

Where,  far  within  the  darksome  rift, 

»  See  Note  33. 

88 


ROKEBY 

The  wedge  and  lever  ply  their  thrift. 
But  war  had  silenced  rural  trade, 
And  the  deserted  mine  was  made 
The  banquet-hall  and  fortress  too 
Of  Denzil  and  his  desperate  crew. 
There  Guilt  his  anxious  revel  kept, 
There  on  his  sordid  pallet  slept 
Guilt-born  Excess,  the  goblet  drained 
Still  in  his  slumbering  grasp  retained ; 
Regret  was  there,  his  eye  still  cast 
With  vain  repining  on  the  past ; 
Among  the  feasters  waited  near 
Sorrow  and  unrepentant  Fear, 
And  Blasphemy,  to  frenzy  driven, 
With  his  own  crimes  reproaching  Heaven; 
While  Bertram  showed  amid  the  crew 
The  Master-Fiend  that  Milton  drew. 

XV 

Hark !  the  loud  revel  wakes  again 
To  greet  the  leader  of  the  train. 
Behold  the  group  by  the  pale  lamp 
That  struggles  with  the  earthy  damp. 
By  what  strange  features  Vice  hath  known 
To  single  out  and  mark  her  own ! 
Yet  some  there  are  whose  brows  retain 
Less  deeply  stamped  her  brand  and  stain. 
89 


ROKEBY 

See  yon  pale  stripling!  when  a  boy, 
A  mother's  pride,  a  father's  joy! 
Now,  'gainst  the  vault's  rude  walls  reclined, 
An  early  image  fills  his  mind : 
The  cottage  once  his  sire's  he  sees, 
Embowered  upon  the  banks  of  Tees ; 
He  views  sweet  Winston's  woodland  scene, 
And  shares  the  dance  on  Gainford  green. 
A  tear  is  springing  —  but  the  zest 
Of  some  wild  tale  or  brutal  jest 
Hath  to  loud  laughter  stirred  the  rest. 
On  him  they  call,  the  aptest  mate 
For  jovial  song  and  merry  feat: 
Fast  flies  his  dream  —  with  dauntless  air. 
As  one  victorious  o'er  despair, 
He  bids  the  ruddy  cup  go  round 
Till  sense  and  sorrow  both  are  drowned ; 
And  soon  in  merry  wassail  he. 
The  life  of  all  their  revelry. 
Peals  his  loud  song !  —  The  muse  has  found 
Her  blossoms  on  the  wildest  ground, 
*Mid  noxious  weeds  at  random  strewed. 
Themselves  all  profitless  and  rude.  — 
With  desperate  merriment  he  sung. 
The  cavern  to  the  chorus  rung, 
Yet  mingled  with  his  reckless  glee 
Remorse's  bitter  agony. 
90 


ROKEBY 

XVI 
SONG 

O,  Brignall  banks  are  wild  and  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  are  green, 
And  you  may  gather  garlands  there 

Would  grace  a  summer  queen. 
And  as  I  rode  by  Dalton  Hall, 

Beneath  the  turrets  high, 
A  maiden  on  the  castle  wall 

Was  singing  merrily,  — 

CHORUS 

*0,  Brignall  banks  are  fresh  and  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  are  green ; 
I  'd  rather  rove  with  Edmund  there 
Than  reign  our  English  queen.' 

*  If,  maiden,  thou  wouldst  wend  with  me, 

To  leave  both  tower  and  town, 
Thou  first  must  guess  what  life  lead  we 

That  dwell  by  dale  and  down? 
And  if  thou  canst  that  riddle  read, 

As  read  full  well  you  may, 
Then  to  the  greenwood  shalt  thou  speed, 

As  blithe  as  Queen  of  May.' 


91 


ROKEBY 

CHORUS 

Yet  sung  she,  '  Brignall  banks  are  fair," 
And  Greta  woods  are  green ; 

I  'd  rather  rove  with  Edmund  there 
Than  reign  our  English  queen. 

XVII 

*  I  read  you,  by  your  bugle-horn, 

And  by  your  palfrey  good, 
I  read  you  for  a  ranger  sworn 

To  keep  the  king's  greenwood.* 
*A  ranger,  lady,  winds  his  horn, 

And  't  is  at  peep  of  light; 
His  blast  is  heard  at  merry  morn, 

And  mine  at  dead  of  night.' 

CHORUS 

Yet  sung  she,  '  Brignall  banks  are  fair. 
And  Greta  woods  are  gay; 

I  would  I  were  with  Edmund  there, 
To  reign  his  Queen  of  May ! 

*  With  burnished  brand  and  musketoon 

So  gallantly  you  come, 
I  read  you  for  a  bold  dragoon. 
That  lists  the  tuck  of  drum.* 
92 


ROKEBY 

*  I  list  no  more  the  tuck  of  drum, 
No  more  the  trumpet  hear ; 

But  when  the  beetle  sounds  his  hum, 
My  comrades  take  the  spear. 

CHORUS 

'And  O,  though  Brignall  banks  be  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  be  gay, 
Yet  mickle  must  the  maiden  dare 

Would  reign  my  Queen  of  May! 


XVIII 

'Maiden!  a  nameless  life  I  lead, 

A  nameless  death  I  '11  die ; 
The  fiend  whose  lantern  lights  the  mead 

Were  better  mate  than  1 1 
And  when  I  'm  with  my  comrades  met 

Beneath  the  greenwood  bough, 
What  once  we  were  we  all  forget, 

Nor  think  what  we  are  now. 

CHORUS 

'Yet  Brignall  banks  are  fresh  and  fair. 

And  Greta  woods  are  green, 
And  you  may  gather  garlands  there 
Would  grace  a  summer  queen.' 
93 


ROKEBY 

When  Edmund  ceased  his  simple  song, 
Was  silence  on  the  sullen  throng. 
Till  waked  some  ruder  mate  their  glee 
With  note  of  coarser  minstrelsy. 
But  far  apart  in  dark  divan, 
Denzil  and  Bertram  many  a  plan 
Of  import  foul  and  fierce  designed, 
While  still  on  Bertram's  grasping  mind 
The  wealth  of  murdered  Mortham  hung; 
Though  half  he  feared  his  daring  tongue. 
When  it  should  give  his  wishes  birth, 
Might  raise  a  spectre  from  the  earth ! 

XIX 

At  length  his  wondrous  tale  he  told ; 
When  scornful  smiled  his  comrade  bold, 
For,  trained  in  license  of  a  court, 
Religion's  self  was  Denzil's  sport; 
Then  judge  in  what  contempt  he  held 
The  visionary  tales  of  eld ! 
His  awe  for  Bertram  scarce  repressed 
The  unbeliever's  sneering  jest ; 
*'T  were  hard,'  he  said,  'for  sage  or  seer 
To  spell  the  subject  of  your  fear; 
Nor  do  I  boast  the  art  renowned 
Vision  and  omen  to  expound. 
Yet,  faith  if  I  must  needs  afford 
94 


ROKEBY 

To  spectre  watching  treasured  hoard, 
As  ban-dog  keeps  his  master's  roof, 
Bidding  the  plunderer  stand  aloof, 
This  doubt  remains  —  thy  goblin  gaunt 
Hath  chosen  ill  his  ghostly  haunt ; 
For  why  his  guard  on  Mortham  hold, 
When  Rokeby  Castle  hath  the  gold 
Thy  patron  won  on  Indian  soil 
By  stealth,  by  piracy  and  spoil?'  — 

XX 

At  this  he  paused  —  for  angry  shame 
Lowered  on  the  brow  of  Risingham. 
He  blushed  to  think,  that  he  should  seem 
Asserter  of  an  airy  dream, 
And  gave  his  wrath  another  theme. 
'Denzil,'  he  says,  'though  lowly  laid. 
Wrong  not  the  memory  of  the  dead ; 
For  while  he  lived  at  Mortham's  look 
Thy  very  soul,  Guy  Denzil,  shook! 
And  when  he  taxed  thy  breach  of  word 
To  yon  fair  rose  of  Allenford, 
I  saw  thee  crouch  like  chastened  hound 
Whose  back  the  huntsman's  lash  hath  found. 
Nor  dare  to  call  his  foreign  wealth 
The  spoil  of  piracy  or  stealth ; 
He  won  it  bravely  with  his  brand 
95 


ROKEBY 

When  Spain  waged  warfare  with  our  land.* 
Mark,  too  —  I  brook  no  idle  jeer, 
Nor  couple  Bertram's  name  with  fear; 
Mine  is  but  half  the  demon's  lot, 
For  I  believe,  but  tremble  not. 
Enough  of  this.  Say,  why  this  hoard 
Thou  deem'st  at  Rokeby  Castle  stored; 
Or  think'st  that  Mortham  would  bestow 
His  treasure  with  his  faction's  foe?* 

XXI 

Soon  quenched  was  Denzil's  ill-timed  mirth; 

Rather  he  would  have  seen  the  earth 

Give  to  ten  thousand  spectres  birth 

Than  venture  to  awake  to  flame 

The  deadly  wrath  of  Risingham. 

Submiss  he  answered,  'Mortham's  mind, 

Thou  know'st,  to  joy  was  ill  inclined. 

In  youth,  't  is  said,  a  gallant  free, 

A  lusty  reveller  was  he ; 

But  since  returned  from  over  sea, 

A  sullen  and  a  silent  mood 

Hath  numbed  the  current  of  his  blood. 

Hence  he  refused  each  kindly  call 

To  Rokeby's  hospitable  hall. 

And  our  stout  knight,  at  dawn  or  morn 

>  See  Note  33. 
96 


ROKEBY 

Who  loved  to  hear  the  bugle-horn, 
Nor  less,  when  eve  his  oaks  embrowned, 
To  see  the  ruddy  cup  go  round. 
Took  umbrage  that  a  friend  so  near 
Refused  to  share  his  chase  and  cheer; 
Thus  did  the  kindred  barons  jar 
Ere  they  divided  in  the  war. 
Yet,  trust  me,  friend,  Matilda  fair 
Of  Mortham's  wealth  is  destined  heir.* 

XXII 

'Destined  to  her!  to  yon  slight  maid! 
The  prize  my  life  had  wellnigh  paid 
When  'gainst  Laroche  by  Cayo's  wave 
I  fought  my  patron's  wealth  to  save !  — 
Denzil,  I  knew  him  long,  yet  ne'er 
Knew  him  that  joyous  cavalier 
Whom  youthful  friends  and  early  fame 
Called  soul  of  gallantry  and  game. 
A  moody  man  he  sought  our  crew, 
Desperate  and  dark,  whom  no  one  knew, 
And  rose,  as  men  with  us  must  rise, 
By  scorning  life  and  all  its  ties. 
On  each  adventure  rash  he  roved. 
As  danger  for  itself  he  loved ; 
On  his  sad  brow  nor  mirth  nor  wine 
Could  e'er  one  wrinkled  knot  untwine; 

49  97 


ROKEBY 

111  was  the  omen  if  he  smiled, 
For  't  was  in  peril  stern  and  wild ; 
But  when  he  laughed  each  luckless  mate 
Might  hold  our  fortune  desperate. 
Foremost  he  fought  in  every  broil, 
Then  scornful  turned  him  from  the  spoil, 
Nay,  often  strove  to  bar  the  way 
Between  his  comrades  and  their  prey ; 
Preaching  even  then  to  such  as  we, 
Hot  with  our  dear-bought  victory, 
Of  mercy  and  humanity. 

XXIII 

*  I  loved  him  well  —  his  fearless  part, 
His  gallant  leading,  won  my  heart. 
And  after  each  victorious  fight, 
'T  was  I  that  wrangled  for  his  right, 
Redeemed  his  portion  of  the  prey 
That  greedier  mates  had  torn  away, 
In  field  and  storm  thrice  saved  his  life, 
And  once  amid  our  comrades'  strife.^ 
Yes,  I  have  loved  thee!  Well  hath  proved 
My  toil,  my  danger,  how  I  loved! 
Yet  will  I  mourn  no  more  thy  fate, 
Ingrate  in  life,  in  death  ingrate. 
Rise  if  thou  canst ! '  he  looked  around 

•  See  Note  34. 
98 


ROKEBY 

And  sternly  stamped  upon  the  ground  — 
'Rise,  with  thy  bearing  proud  and  high, 
Even  as  this  morn  it  met  mine  eye, 
And  give  me,  if  thou  darest,  the  lie!* 
He  paused  —  then,  calm  and  passion-freed, 
Bade  Denzil  with  his  tale  proceed. 

XXIV 

'Bertram,  to  thee  I  need  not  tell, 
What  thou  hast  cause  to  wot  so  well, 
How  Superstition's  nets  were  twined 
Around  the  Lord  of  Mortham's  mind; 
But  since  he  drove  thee  from  his  tower, 
A  maid  he  found  in  Greta's  bower 
Whose  speech,  like  David's  harp,  had  sway 
To  charm  his  evil  fiend  away. 
I  know  not  if  her  features  moved 
Remembrance  of  the  wife  he  loved, 
But  he  would  gaze  upon  her  eye, 
Till  the  mood  softened  to  a  sigh. 
He,  whom  no  loving  mortal  sought 
To  question  of  his  secret  thought, 
Now  every  thought  and  care  confessed 
To  his  fair  niece's  faithful  breast; 
Nor  was  there  aught  of  rich  and  rare, 
In  earth,  in  ocean,  or  in  air. 
But  it  must  deck  Matilda's  hair. 
99 


ROKEBY 

Her  love  still  bound  him  unto  life; 
But  then  awoke  the  civil  strife, 
And  menials  bore  by  his  commands 
Three  coffers  with  their  iron  bands 
From  Mortham's  vault  at  midnight  deep 
To  her  lone  bower  in  Rokeby  Keep, 
Ponderous  with  gold  and  plate  of  pride, 
His  gift,  if  he  in  battle  died.' 

XXV 

'Then  Denzil,  as  I  guess,  lays  train 
These  iron-banded  chests  to  gain. 
Else  wherefore  should  he  hover  here 
Where  many  a  peril  waits  him  near 
For  all  his  fears  of  war  and  peace. 
For  plundered  boors,  and  harts  of  greese? 
Since  through  the  hamlets  as  he  fared 
What  hearth  has  Guy's  marauding  spared, 
Or  where  the  chase  that  hath  not  rung 
With  Denzil's  bow  at  midnight  strung?' 

'  I  hold  my  wont  —  my  rangers  go. 
Even  now  to  track  a  milk-white  doe.* 
By  Rokeby  Hall  she  takes  her  lair. 
In  Greta  wood  she  harbours  fair, 
And  when  my  huntsman  marks  her  way, 
What  think'st  thou,  Bertram,  of  the  prey? 

»  See  Note  3S. 
100 


ROKEBY 

Were  Rokeby's  daughter  in  our  power, 
We  rate  her  ransom  at  her  dower.' 

XXVI 

*  'T  is  well !  —  there 's  vengeance  in  the  thought, 
Matilda  is  by  Wilfrid  sought; 
And  hot-brained  Redmond  too,  't  is  said, 
Pays  lover's  homage  to  the  maid. 
Bertram  she  scorned  —  if  met  by  chance 
She  turned  from  me  her  shuddering  glance, 
Like  a  nice  dame  that  will  not  brook 
On  what  she  hates  and  loathes  to  look ; 
She  told  to  Mortham  she  could  ne'er 
Behold  me  without  secret  fear, 
Foreboding  evil :  —  she  may  rue 
To  find  her  prophecy  fall  true !  — 
The  war  has  weeded  Rokeby's  train, 
Few  followers  in  his  halls  remain ; 
If  thy  scheme  miss,  then,  brief  and  bold, 
We  are  enow  to  storm  the  hold. 
Bear  off  the  plunder  and  the  dame, 
And  leave  the  castle  all  in  flame.' 

XXVII 

'Still  art  thou  Valour's  venturous  son! 
Yet  ponder  first  the  risk  to  run: 
The  menials  of  the  castle,  true 

lOI 


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.•-i^;^ic 

ds\%o 


ROKEBY 

And  stubborn  to  their  charge,  though  few  — 
The  wall  to  scale  —  the  moat  to  cross  — 
The  wicket-grate  —  the  inner  fosse '  — 

*  Fool !  if  we  blench  for  toys  like  these, 
On  what  fair  guerdon  can  we  seize? 
Our  hardiest  venture,  to  explore 
Some  wretched  peasant's  fenceless  door, 
And  the  best  prize  we  bear  away, 

The  earnings  of  his  sordid  day.* 
*A  while  thy  hasty  taunt  forbear: 
In  sight  of  road  more  sure  and  fair 
Thou  wouldst  not  choose,  in  blindfold  wrath 
Or  wantonness  a  desperate  path? 
List,  then;  —  for  vantage  or  assault, 
From  gilded  vane  to  dungeon  vault, 
Each  pass  of  Rokeby  House  I  know: 
There  is  one  postern  dark  and  low 
That  issues  at  a  secret  spot. 
By  most  neglected  or  forgot. 
Now,  could  a  spial  of  our  train 
On  fair  pretext  admittance  gain. 
That  sally-port  might  be  unbarred; 
Then,  vain  were  battlement  and  ward!' 

XXVIII 

*  Now  speak'st  thou  well :  to  me  the  same 
If  force  or  art  shall  urge  the  game; 

102 


1 


ROKEBY 

Indifferent  if  like  fox  I  wind, 
Or  spring  like  tiger  on  the  hind.  — 
But,  hark!  our  merry  men  so  gay 
Troll  forth  another  roundelay.* 

SONG 

*A  weary  lot  is  thine,  fair  maid, 

A  weary  lot  is  thine ! 
To  pull  the  thorn  thy  brow  to  braid, 

And  press  the  rue  for  wine! 
A  lightsome  eye,  a  soldier's  mien, 

A  feather  of  the  blue, 
A  doublet  of  the  Lincoln  green,  — 

No  more  of  me  you  knew, 
My  love! 

No  more  of  me  you  knew. 

'This  morn  is  merry  June,  I  trow, 

The  rose  is  budding  fain; 
But  she  shall  bloom  in  winter  snow 

Ere  we  two  meet  again.' 
He  turned  his  charger  as  he  spake 

Upon  the  river  shore. 
He  gave  his  bridle-reins  a  shake. 

Said,  'Adieu  for  evermore. 
My  love! 

And  adieu  for  evermore.'  * 

»  See  Note  36. 
103 


ROKEBY 

XXIX 

'What  youth  is  this  your  band  among 
The  best  for  minstrelsy  and  song? 
In  his  wild  notes  seem  aptly  met 
A  strain  of  pleasure  and  regret.'  — 
'Edmund  of  Winston  is  his  name; 
The  hamlet  sounded  with  the  fame 
Of  early  hopes  his  childhood  gave,  — 
Now  centred  all  in  Brignall  cave! 
I  watch  him  well  —  his  wayward  course 
Shows  oft  a  tincture  of  remorse. 
Some  early  love-shaft  grazed  his  heart, 
And  oft  the  scar  will  ache  and  smart. 
Yet  is  he  useful ;  —  of  the  rest 
By  fits  the  darling  and  the  jest, 
His  harp,  his  story,  and  his  lay, 
Oft  aid  the  idle  hours  away: 
When  unemployed,  each  fiery  mate 
Is  ripe  for  mutinous  debate. 
He  tuned  his  strings  e'en  now  —  again 
He  wakes  them  with  a  blither  strain.' 

XXX 

SONG 
ALLEN-A-DALE 

Allen-a-Dale  has  no  faggot  for  burning, 
Allen-a-Dale  has  no  furrow  for  turning, 
104 


ROKEBY 

AlIen-a-Dale  has  no  fleece  for  the  spinning, 
Yet  Allen-a-Dale  has  red  gold  for  the  winning. 
Come,  read  me  my  riddle !  come,  hearken  my  tale ! 
And  tell  me  the  craft  of  bold  Allen-a-Dale. 

The  Baron  of  Ravensworth  ^  prances  in  pride, 
And  he  views  his  domains  upon  Arklndale  side. 
The  mere  for  his  net  and  the  land  for  his  game, 
The  chase  for  the  wild  and  the  park  for  the  tame; 
Yet  the  fish  of  the  lake  and  the  deer  of  the  vale 
Are  less  free  to  Lord  Dacre  than  AlIen-a-Dale! 

Allen-a-Dale  was  ne'er  belted  a  knight, 

Though  his  spur  be  as  sharp  and  his  blade  be  as 

bright; 
Allen-a-Dale  is  no  baron  or  lord, 
Yet  twenty  tall  yeomen  will  draw  at  his  word; 
And  the  best  of  our  nobles  his  bonnet  will  vail. 
Who  at  Rere-cross^  on  Stanmore  meets  Allen-a-Dale! 

Allen-a-Dale  to  his  wooing  is  come ; 

The  mother,  she  asked  of  his  household  and  home : 

'Though  the  castle  of  Richmond  stand  fair  on  the  hill. 

My  hall,'  quoth  bold  Allen,  'shows  gallanter  still; 

*T  is  the  blue  vault  of  heaven,  with  its  crescent  so  pale 

And  with  all  its  bright  spangles!'  said  Allen-a-Dale. 

»  See  Note  37.  »  See  Note  38. 


ROKEBY 

The  father  was  steel  and  the  mother  was  stone; 
They  hfted  the  latch  and  they  bade  him  be  gone; 
But  loud  on  the  morrow  their  wail  and  their  cry : 
He  had  laughed  on  the  lass  with  his  bonny  black  eye, 
And  she  fled  to  the  forest  to  hear  a  love-tale, 
And  the  youth  it  was  told  by  was  Allen-a-Dale ! 

XXXI 

'Thou  see'st  that,  whether  sad  or  gay, 
Love  mingles  ever  in  his  lay. 
But  when  his  boyish  wayward  fit 
Is  o'er,  he  hath  address  and  wit ; 
O,  't  is  a  brain  of  fire,  can  ape 
Each  dialect,  each  various  shape!'  — 

*Nay  then,  to  aid  thy  project,  Guy  — 
Soft !  who  comes  here? '  —  'My  trusty  spy. 
Speak,  Hamlin!  hast  thou  lodged  our  deer?'* 

*  I  have  —  but  two  fair  stags  are  near. 
I  watched  her  as  she  slowly  strayed 
From  Eglistone  up  Thorsgill  glade. 
But  Wilfrid  Wycliffe  sought  her  side. 
And  then  young  Redmond  in  his  pride 
Shot  down  to  meet  them  on  their  way; 
Much,  as  it  seemed,  was  theirs  to  say: 
There's  time  to  pitch  both  toil  and  net 
Before  their  path  be  homeward  set.' 

»  See  Note  39. 

io6 


1 


ROKEBY 

A  hurried  and  a  whispered  speech 
Did  Bertram's  will  to  Denzil  teach, 
Who,  turning  to  the  robber  band, 
Bade  four,  the  bravest,  take  the  brand. 


CANTO  FOURTH 

I 

When  Denmark's  raven  soared  on  high, 
Triumphant  through  Northumbrian  sky, 
The  hovering  near  her  fatal  croak 
Bade  Reged's  Britons  dread  the  yoke,* 
And  the  broad  shadow  of  her  wing 
Blackened  each  cataract  and  spring 
Where  Tees  in  tumult  leaves  his  source. 
Thundering  o'er  Caldron  and  High  Force;* 
Beneath  the  shade  the  Northmen  came. 
Fixed  on  each  vale  a  Runic  name,' 
Reared  high  their  altar's  rugged  stone, 
And  gave  their  gods  the  land  they  won. 
Then,  Balder,  one  bleak  garth  was  thine 
And  one  sweet  brooklet's  silver  line, 
And  Woden's  Croft  did  title  gain  . 
From  the  stern  Father  of  the  Slain; 
But  to  the  Monarch  of  the  Mace, 
That  held  in  fight  the  foremost  place. 
To  Odin's  son  and  Sifia's  spouse. 
Near  Startforth  high  they  paid  their  vows, 

»  See  Note  40.  «  See  Note  41.  »  See  Note  43. 

108 


ROKEBY 

Remembered  Thor's  victorious  fame, 
And  gave  the  dell  the  Thunderer's  name. 

II 

Yet  Scald  or  Kemper  erred,  I  ween, 
Who  gave  that  soft  and  quiet  scene, 
With  all  its  varied  light  and  shade, 
And  every  little  sunny  glade, 
And  the  blithe  brook  that  strolls  along 
Its  pebbled  bed  with  summer  song, 
To  the  grim  God  of  blood  and  scar. 
The  grisly  King  of  Northern  War. 
O,  better  were  its  banks  assigned 
To  spirits  of  a  gentler  kind! 
For  where  the  thicket-groups  recede 
And  the  rath  primrose  decks  the  mead, 
The  velvet  grass  seems  carpet  meet 
For  the  light  fairies'  lively  feet. 
Yon  tufted  knoll  with  daisies  strown 
Might  make  proud  Oberon  a  throne. 
While,  hidden  in  the  thicket  nigh. 
Puck  should  brood  o'er  his  frolic  sly; 
And  where  profuse  the  wood-vetch  clings 
Round  ash  and  elm  in  verdant  rings. 
Its  pale  and  azure-pencilled  flower 
Should  canopy  Titania's  bower. 


109 


ROKEBY 

III 

Here  rise  no  cliffs  the  vale  to  shade; 
But,  skirting  every  sunny  glade, 
In  fair  variety  of  green 
The  woodland  lends  its  sylvan  screen. 
Hoary  yet  haughty,  frowns  the  oak, 
Its  boughs  by  weight  of  ages  broke; 
And  towers  erect  in  sable  spire 
The  pine  tree  scathed  by  lightning-fire ; 
The  drooping  ash  and  birch  between 
Hang  their  fair  tresses  o'er  the  green, 
And  all  beneath  at  random  grow 
Each  coppice  dwarf  of  varied  show, 
Or,  round  the  stems  profusely  twined, 
Fling  summer  odours  on  the  wind. 
Such  varied  group  Urbino's  hand 
Round  Him  of  Tarsus  nobly  planned, 
What  time  he  bade  proud  Athens  own 
On  Mars's  Mount  the  God  Unknown! 
Then  grey  Philosophy  stood  nigh. 
Though  bent  by  age,  in  spirit  high: 
There  rose  the  scar-seamed  veteran's  spear, 
There  Grecian  Beauty  bent  to  hear, 
While  Childhood  at  her  foot  was  placed. 
Or  clung  delighted  to  her  waist. 


no 


ROKEBY 

IV 

'And  rest  we  here,'  Matilda  said, 
And  sat  her  in  the  varying  shade. 
*  Chance-met,  we  well  may  steal  an  hour, 
To  friendship  due  from  fortune's  power. 
Thou,  Wilfrid,  ever  kind,  must  lend 
Thy  counsel  to  thy  sister-friend ; 
And,  Redmond,  thou,  at  my  behest, 
No  farther  urge  thy  desperate  quest. 
For  to  my  care  a  charge  is  left. 
Dangerous  to  one  of  aid  bereft, 
Wellnigh  an  orphan  and  alone. 
Captive  her  sire,  her  house  o'erthrown.* 
Wilfrid,  with  wonted  kindness  graced, 
Beside  her  on  the  turf  she  placed ; 
Then  paused  with  downcast  look  and  eye, 
Nor  bade  young  Redmond  seat  him  nigh. 
Her  conscious  diffidence  he  saw, 
Drew  backward  as  in  modest  awe. 
And  sat  a  little  space  removed, 
Unmarked  to  gaze  on  her  he  loved. 

V 

Wreathed  in  its  dark-brown  rings,  her  hair 
Half  hid  Matilda's  forehead  fair. 
Half  hid  and  half  revealed  to  view 
III 


ROKEBY 

Her  full  dark  eye  of  hazel  hue. 
The  rose  with  faint  and  feeble  streak 
So  slightly  tinged  the  maiden's  cheek 
That  you  had  said  her  hue  was  pale ; 
But  if  she  faced  the  summer  gale, 
Or  spoke,  or  sung,  or  quicker  moved, 
Or  heard  the  praise  of  those  she  loved, 
Or  when  of  interest  was  expressed 
Aught  that  waked  feeling  in  her  breast, 
The  mantling  blood  in  ready  play 
Rivalled  the  blush  of  rising  day. 
There  was  a  soft  and  pensive  grace, 
A  cast  of  thought  upon  her  face, 
That  suited  well  the  forehead  high. 
The  eyelash  dark  and  downcast  eye; 
The  mild  expression  spoke  a  mind 
In  duty  firm,  composed,  resigned;  — 
'T  is  that  which  Roman  art  has  given, 
To  mark  their  maiden  Queen  of  Heaven. 
In  hours  of  sport  that  mood  gave  way 
To  Fancy's  light  and  frolic  play; 
And  when  the  dance,  or  tale,  or  song 
In  harmless  mirth  sped  time  along. 
Full  oft  her  doting  sire  would  call 
His  Maud  the  merriest  of  them  all. 
But  days  of  war  and  civil  crime 
Allowed  but  ill  such  festal  time, 

112 


ROKEBY 

And  her  soft  pensiveness  of  brow 

Had  deepened  into  sadness  now. 

In  Marston  field  her  father  ta'en, 

Her  friends  dispersed,  brave  Mortham  slain, 

While  every  ill  her  soul  foretold 

From  Oswald's  thirst  of  power  and  gold, 

And  boding  thoughts  that  she  must  part 

With  a  soft  vision  of  her  heart,  — 

All  lowered  around  the  lovely  maid, 

To  darken  her  dejection's  shade. 

VI 

Who  has  not  heard  —  while  Erin  yet 

Strove  'gainst  the  Saxon's  iron  bit  — 

Who  has  not  heard  how  brave  O'Neale  ^ 

In  English  blood  imbrued  his  steel, 

Against  St.  George's  cross  blazed  high 

The  banners  of  his  Tanistry, 

To  fiery  Essex  gave  the  foil, 

And  reigned  a  prince  on  Ulster's  soil? 

But  chief  arose  his  victor  pride 

When  that  brave  Marshal  fought  and  died,^ 

And  Avon-Duff  to  ocean  bore 

His  billows  red  with  Saxon  gore. 

'T  was  first  in  that  disastrous  fight 

Rokeby  and  Mortham  proved  their  might. 

>  See  Note  43.  «  See  Note  44. 

49  113 


ROKEBY 

There  had  they  fallen  amongst  the  rest, 
But  pity  touched  a  chieftain's  breast; 
The  Tanist  he  to  great  O'Neale/ 
He  checked  his  followers'  bloody  zeal, 
To  quarter  took  the  kinsmen  bold, 
And  bore  them  to  his  mountain-hold, 
Gave  them  each  sylvan  joy  to  know 
Slieve-Donard's  cliffs  and  woods  could  show, 
Shared  with  them  Erin's  festal  cheer, 
Showed  them  the  chase  of  wolf  and  deer. 
And,  when  a  fitting  time  was  come, 
Safe  and  unransomed  sent  them  home, 
Loaded  with  many  a  gift  to  prove 
A  generous  foe's  respect  and  love. 

VII 

Years  speed  away.  On  Rokeby's  head 

Some  touch  of  early  snow  was  shed; 

Calm  he  enjoyed  by  Greta's  wave 

The  peace  which  James  the  Peaceful  gave, 

While  Mortham  far  beyond  the  main 

Waged  his  fierce  wars  on  Indian  Spain.  — 

It  chanced  upon  a  wintry  night 

That  whitened  Stanmore's  stormy  height, 

The  chase  was  o'er,  the  stag  was  killed. 

In  Rokeby  Hall  the  cups  were  filled, 

»  See  Note  45. 
114 


ROKEBY 

And  by  the  huge  stone  chimney  sate 
The  knight  in  hospitable  state. 
Moonless  the  sky,  the  hour  was  late, 
When  a  loud  summons  shook  the  gate, 
And  sore  for  entrance  and  for  aid 
A  voice  of  foreign  accent  prayed. 
The  porter  answered  to  the  call, 
And  instant  rushed  into  the  hall 
A  man  whose  aspect  and  attire 
Startled  the  circle  by  the  fire. 

VIII 

His  plaited  hair  in  elf-locks  spread  * 

Around  his  bare  and  matted  head ; 

On  leg  and  thigh,  close  stretched  and  trim, 

His  vesture  showed  the  sinewy  limb; 

In  saffron  dyed,  a  linen  vest 

Was  frequent  folded  round  his  breast; 

A  mantle  long  and  loose  he  wore, 

Shaggy  with  ice  and  stained  with  gore. 

He  clasped  a  burden  to  his  heart. 

And,  resting  on  a  knotted  dart, 

The  snow  from  hair  and  beard  he  shook. 

And  round  him  gazed  with  'wildered  look. 

Then  up  the  hall  with  staggering  pace 

He  hastened  by  the  blaze  to  place, 

>  See  Note  46. 


ROKEBY 

Half  lifeless  from  the  bitter  air, 
His  load,  a  boy  of  beauty  rare. 
To  Rokeby  next  he  louted  low, 
Then  stood  erect  his  tale  to  show 
With  wild  majestic  port  and  tone, 
Like  envoy  of  some  barbarous  throne.* 
'Sir  Richard,  Lord  of  Rokeby,  hear! 
Turlough  O'Neale  salutes  thee  dear; 
He  graces  thee,  and  to  thy  care 
Young  Redmond  gives,  his  grandson  fair. 
He  bids  thee  breed  him  as  thy  son, 
For  Turlough 's  days  of  joy  are  done, 
And  other  lords  have  seized  his  land. 
And  faint  and  feeble  is  his  hand. 
And  all  the  glory  of  Tyrone 
Is  like  a  morning  vapour  flown. 
To  bind  the  duty  on  thy  soul. 
He  bids  thee  think  on  Erin's  bowl ! 
If  any  wrong  the  young  O'Neale, 
He  bids  thee  think  of  Erin's  steel. 
To  Mortham  first  this  charge  was  due, 
But  in  his  absence  honours  you.  — 
Now  is  my  master's  message  by, 
And  Ferraught  will  contented  die.* 

>  See  Note  47. 


116 


ROKEBY 

IX 

His  look  grew  fixed,  his  cheek  grew  pale, 
He  sunk  when  he  had  told  his  tale; 
For,  hid  beneath  his  mantle  wide, 
A  mortal  wound  was  in  his  side. 
Vain  was  all  aid  —  in  terror  wild 
And  sorrow  screamed  the  orphan  child. 
Poor  Ferraught  raised  his  wistful  eyes, 
And  faintly  strove  to  soothe  his  cries; 
All  reckless  of  his  dying  pain. 
He  blest  and  blest  him  o'er  again, 
And  kissed  the  little  hands  outspread. 
And  kissed  and  crossed  the  infant  head. 
And  in  his  native  tongue  and  phrase 
Prayed  to  each  saint  to  watch  his  days; 
Then  all  his  strength  together  drew 
The  charge  to  Rokeby  to  renew. 
When  half  was  faltered  from  his  breast, 
And  half  by  dying  signs  expressed, 
'Bless  thee,  O'Neale!'  he  faintly  said, 
And  thus  the  faithful  spirit  fled. 

X 

'T  was  long  ere  soothing  might  prevail 
Upon  the  child  to  end  the  tale : 
And  then  he  said  that  from  his  home 
117 


ROKEBY 

His  grandsire  had  been  forced  to  roam. 
Which  had  not  been  if  Redmond's  hand 
Had  but  had  strength  to  draw  the  brand, 
The  brand  of  Lenaugh  More  the  Red, 
That  hung  beside  the  grey  wolf's  head.  — 
'T  was  from  his  broken  phrase  descried. 
His  foster  father  was  his  guide,^ 
Who  in  his  charge  from  Ulster  bore 
Letters  and  gifts  a  goodly  store; 
But  ruffians  met  them  in  the  wood, 
Ferraught  in  battle  boldly  stood. 
Till  wounded  and  o'erpowered  at  length, 
And  stripped  of  all,  his  failing  strength 
Just  bore  him  here  —  and  then  the  child 
Renewed  again  his  moaning  wild. 

XI 

The  tear  down  childhood's  cheek  that  flows 
Is  like  the  dew-drop  on  the  rose ; 
When  next  the  summer  breeze  comes  by 
And  waves  the  bush,  the  flower  is  dry. 
Won  by  their  care,  the  orphan  child 
Soon  on  his  new  protector  smiled, 
With  dimpled  cheek  and  eye  so  fair. 
Through  his  thick  curls  of  flaxen  hair. 
But  blithest  laughed  that  cheek  and  eye, 

•  See  Note  48. 
118 


ROKEBY 

When  Rokeby's  little  maid  was  nigh; 
'T  was  his  with  elder  brother's  pride 
Matilda's  tottering  steps  to  guide; 
His  native  lays  in  Irish  tongue 
To  soothe  her  infant  ear  he  sung, 
And  primrose  twined  with  daisy  fair 
To  form  a  chaplet  for  her  hair. 
By  lawn,  by  grove,  by  brooklet's  strand, 
The  children  still  were  hand  in  hand, 
And  good  Sir  Richard  smiling  eyed 
The  early  knot  so  kindly  tied. 

XII 

But  summer  months  bring  wilding  shoot 
From  bud  to  bloom,  from  bloom  to  fruit; 
And  years  draw  on  our  human  span 
From  child  to  boy,  from  boy  to  man; 
And  soon  in  Rokeby's  woods  is  seen 
A  gallant  boy  in  hunter's  green. 
He  loves  to  wake  the  felon  boar 
In  his  dark  haunt  on  Greta's  shore. 
And  loves  against  the  deer  so  dun 
To  draw  the  shaft,  or  lift  the  gun: 
Yet  more  he  loves  in  autumn  prime 
The  hazel's  spreading  boughs  to  climb. 
And  down  its  clustered  stores  to  hail 
Where  young  Matilda  holds  her  veil. 
119 


ROKEBY 

And  she  whose  veil  receives  the  shower 

Is  altered  too  and  knows  her  power, 

Assumes  a  monitress's  pride 

Her  Redmond's  dangerous  sports  to  chide, 

Yet  listens  still  to  hear  him  tell 

How  the  grim  wild-boar  fought  and  fell. 

How  at  his  fall  the  bugle  rung, 

Till  rock  and  greenwood  answer  flung; 

Then  blesses  her  that  man  can  find 

A  pastime  of  such  savage  kind! 

XIII 

But  Redmond  knew  to  weave  his  tale 

So  well  with  praise  of  wood  and  dale, 

And  knew  so  well  each  point  to  trace 

Gives  living  interest  to  the  chase, 

And  knew  so  well  o'er  all  to  throw 

His  spirit's  wild  romantic  glow. 

That,  while  she  blamed  and  while  she  feared, 

She  loved  each  venturous  tale  she  heard. 

Oft,  too,  when  drifted  snow  and  rain 

To  bower  and  hall  their  steps  restrain. 

Together  they  explored  the  page 

Of  glowing  bard  or  gifted  sage ; 

Oft,  placed  the  evening  fire  beside. 

The  minstrel  art  alternate  tried, 

While  gladsome  harp  and  lively  lay 

120 


ROKEBY 

Bade  winter  night  flit  fast  away: 
Thus,  from  their  childhood  blending  still 
Their  sport,  their  study,  and  their  skill, 
An  union  of  the  soul  they  prove, 
But  must  not  think  that  it  was  love. 
But  though  they  dared  not,  envious  Fame 
Soon  dared  to  give  that  union  name ; 
And  when  so  often  side  by  side 
From  year  to  year  the  pair  she  eyed, 
She  sometimes  blamed  the  good  old  knight 
As  dull  of  ear  and  dim  of  sight, 
Sometimes  his  purpose  would  declare 
That  young  O'Neale  should  wed  his  heir. 

XIV 

The  suit  of  Wilfrid  rent  disguise 

And  bandage  from  the  lovers'  eyes; 

'T  was  plain  that  Oswald  for  his  son 

Had  Rokeby's  favour  wellnigh  won. 

Now  must  they  meet  with  change  of  cheer, 

With  mutual  looks  of  shame  and  fear; 

Now  must  Matilda  stray  apart 

To  school  her  disobedient  heart. 

And  Redmond  now  alone  must  rue 

The  love  he  never  can  subdue. 

But  factions  rose,  and  Rokeby  sware 

No  rebel's  son  should  wed  his  heir; 

121 


ROKEBY 

And  Redmond,  nurtured  while  a  child 
In  many  a  bard's  traditions  wild, 
Now  sought  the  lonely  wood  or  stream, 
To  cherish  there  a  happier  dream 
Of  maiden  won  by  sword  or  lance, 
As  in  the  regions  of  romance; 
And  count  the  heroes  of  his  line, 
Great  Nial  of  the  Pledges  Nine,^ 
Shane-Dymas^  wild,  and  Geraldine,' 
And  Connan-more,  who  vowed  his  race 
For  ever  to  the  fight  and  chase, 
And  cursed  him  of  his  lineage  born 
Should  sheathe  the  sword  to  reap  the  corn, 
Or  leave  the  mountain  and  the  wold 
To  shroud  himself  in  castled  hold. 
From  such  examples  hope  he  drew, 
And  brightened  as  the  trumpet  blew. 

XV 

If  brides  were  won  by  heart  and  blade, 
Redmond  had  both  his  cause  to  aid, 
And  all  beside  of  nurture  rare 
That  might  beseem  a  baron's  heir. 
Turlough  O'Neale  in  Erin's  strife 
On  Rokeby's  Lord  bestowed  his  life, 
And  well  did  Rokeby's  generous  knight 

»  See  Note  49.  *  See  Note  50.  •  See  Note  51. 

122 


ROKEBY 

Young  Redmond  for  the  deed  requite. 
Nor  was  his  Hberal  care  and  cost 
Upon  the  gallant  stripling  lost: 
Seek  the  North  Riding  broad  and  wide, 
Like  Redmond  none  could  steed  bestride; 
From  Tynemouth  search  to  Cumberland, 
Like  Redmond  none  could  wield  a  brand; 
And  then,  of  humour  kind  and  free, 
And  bearing  him  to  each  degree 
With  frank  and  fearless  courtesy, 
There  never  youth  was  formed  to  steal 
Upon  the  heart  like  brave  O'Neale. 

XVI 

Sir  Richard  loved  him  as  his  son; 
And  when  the  days  of  peace  were  done, 
And  to  the  gales  of  war  he  gave 
The  banner  of  his  sires  to  wave, 
Redmond,  distinguished  by  his  care. 
He  chose  that  honoured  flag  to  bear,^ 
And  named  his  page,  the  next  degree 
In  that  old  time  to  chivalry.^ 
In  five  pitched  fields  he  well  maintained 
The  honoured  place  his  worth  obtained. 
And  high  was  Redmond's  youthful  name 
Blazed  in  the  roll  of  martial  fame. 

•  See  Note  52.  »  See  Note  S3. 

123 


ROKEBY 

Had  fortune  smiled  on  Marston  fight, 
The  eve  had  seen  him  dubbed  a  knight; 
Twice  'mid  the  battle's  doubtful  strife 
Of  Rokeby's  Lord  he  saved  the  life, 
But  when  he  saw  him  prisoner  made, 
He  kissed  and  then  resigned  his  blade, 
And  yielded  him  an  easy  prey 
To  those  who  led  the  knight  away. 
Resolved  Matilda's  sire  should  prove 
In  prison,  as  in  fight,  his  love. 


XVII 

When  lovers  meet  in  adverse  hour, 
*T  is  like  a  sun-glimpse  through  a  shower, 
A  watery  ray  an  instant  seen 
The  darkly  closing  clouds  between. 
As  Redmond  on  the  turf  reclined, 
The  past  and  present  filled  his  mind : 
'It  was  not  thus,'  Afi"ection  said, 
*I  dreamed  of  my  return,  dear  maid! 
Not  thus  when  from  thy  trembling  hand 
I  took  the  banner  and  the  brand. 
When  round  me,  as  the  bugles  blew. 
Their  blades  three  hundred  warriors  drew, 
And,  while  the  standard  I  unrolled. 
Clashed  their  bright  arms,  with  clamour  bold 
124 


ROKEBY 

Where  is  that  banner  now?  —  its  pride 
Lies  whelmed  in  Ouse's  sullen  tide! 
Where  now  these  warriors?  —  in  their  gore 
They  cumber  Marston's  dismal  moor! 
And  what  avails  a  useless  brand, 
Held  by  a  captive's  shackled  hand, 
That  only  would  his  life  retain 
To  aid  thy  sire  to  bear  his  chain!' 
Thus  Redmond  to  himself  apart, 
Nor  lighter  was  his  rival's  heart; 
For  Wilfrid,  while  his  generous  soul 
Disdained  to  profit  by  control. 
By  many  a  sign  could  mark  too  plain. 
Save  with  such  aid,  his  hopes  were  vain. 
But  now  Matilda's  accents  stole 
On  the  dark  visions  of  their  soul, 
And  bade  their  mournful  musing  fly, 
Like  mist  before  the  zephyr's  sigh. 


XVIII 

*I  need  not  to  my  friends  recall, 
How  Mortham  shunned  my  father's  hall, 
A  man  of  silence  and  of  woe. 
Yet  ever  anxious  to  bestow 
On  my  poor  self  whate'er  could  prove 
A  kinsman's  confidence  and  love. 

125 


ROKEBY 

My  feeble  aid  could  sometimes  chase 
The  clouds  of  sorrow  for  a  space ; 
But  oftener,  fixed  beyond  my  power, 
I  marked  his  deep  despondence  lower. 
One  dismal  cause,  by  all  unguessed, 
His  fearful  confidence  confessed ; 
And  twice  it  was  my  hap  to  see 
Examples  of  that  agony 
Which  for  a  season  can  o'erstrain 
And  wreck  the  structure  of  the  brain. 
He  had  the  awful  power  to  know 
The  approaching  mental  overthrow, 
And  while  his  mind  had  courage  yet 
To  struggle  with  the  dreadful  fit, 
The  victim  writhed  against  its  throes, 
Like  wretch  beneath  a  murderer's  blows. 
This  malady,  I  well  could  mark. 
Sprung  from  some  direful  cause  and  dark, 
But  still  he  kept  its  source  concealed, 
Till  arming  for  the  civil  field; 
Then  in  my  charge  he  bade  me  hold 
A  treasure  huge  of  gems  and  gold. 
With  this  disjointed  dismal  scroll 
That  tells  the  secret  of  his  soul 
In  such  wild  words  as  oft  betray 
A  mind  by  anguish  forced  astray.* 


126 


ROKEBY 

XIX 

mortham's  history 

'Matilda!  thou  hast  seen  me  start, 
As  if  a  dagger  thrilled  my  heart, 

.  When  it  has  happed  some  casual  phrase 
Waked  memory  of  my  former  days. 
Believe  that  few  can  backward  cast 
Their  thought  with  pleasure  on  the  past; 
But  I !  —  my  youth  was  rash  and  vain, 
And  blood  and  rage  my  manhood  stain, 
And  my  grey  hairs  must  now  descend 
To  my  cold  grave  without  a  friend ! 
Even  thou,  Matilda,  wilt  disown 
Thy  kinsman  when  his  guilt  is  known. 
And  must  I  lift  the  bloody  veil 
That  hides  my  dark  and  fatal  tale? 
I  must  —  I  will  —  Pale  phantom,  cease! 
Leave  me  one  little  hour  in  peace! 
Thus  haunted,  think'st  thou  I  have  skill 
Thine  own  commission  to  fulfil? 
Or,  while  thou  point'st  with  gesture  fierce 
Thy  blighted  cheek,  thy  bloody  hearse, 
How  can  I  paint  thee  as  thou  wert, 
So  fair  in  face,  so  warm  in  heart!  — 


127 


ROKEBY 

XX 

'Yes,  she  was  fair!  —  Matilda,  thou 
Hast  a  soft  sadness  on  thy  brow ; 
But  hers  was  like  the  sunny  glow, 
That  laughs  on  earth  and  all  below! 
We  wedded  secret  —  there  was  need  — 
Differing  in  country  and  in  creed; 
And  when  to  Mortham's  tower  she  came. 
We  mentioned  not  her  race  and  name. 
Until  thy  sire,  who  fought  afar, 
Should  turn  him  home  from  foreign  war. 
On  whose  kind  influence  we  relied 
To  soothe  her  father's  ire  and  pride. 
Few  months  we  lived  retired,  unknown 
To  all  but  one  dear  friend  alone, 
One  darling  friend  —  I  spare  his  shame, 
I  will  not  write  the  villain's  name! 
My  trespasses  I  might  forget, 
And  sue  in  vengeance  for  the  debt 
Due  by  a  brother  worm  to  me. 
Ungrateful  to  God's  clemency. 
That  spared  me  penitential  time. 
Nor  cut  me  off  amid  my  crime.  — 


128 


ROKEBY 

XXI 

*A  kindly  smile  to  all  she  lent, 
But  on  her  husband's  friend  't  was  bent 
So  kind  that  from  its  harmless  glee 
The  wretch  misconstrued  villainy. 
Repulsed  in  his  presumptuous  love, 
A  vengeful  snare  the  traitor  wove. 
Alone  we  sat  —  the  flask  had  flowed. 
My  blood  with  heat  unwonted  glowed, 
When  through  the  alleyed  walk  we  spied 
With  hurried  step  my  Edith  glide. 
Cowering  beneath  the  verdant  screen. 
As  one  unwilling  to  be  seen. 
Words  cannot  paint  the  fiendish  smile 
That  curled  the  traitor's  cheek  the  while ! 
Fiercely  I  questioned  of  the  cause; 
He  made  a  cold  and  artful  pause, 
Then  prayed  it  might  not  chafe  my  mood 

"There  was  a  gallant  in  the  wood!" 
We  had  been  shooting  at  the  deer; 
My  cross-bow  —  evil  chance!  —  was  near: 
That  ready  weapon  of  my  wrath 
I  caught  and,  hasting  up  the  path. 
In  the  yew  grove  my  wife  I  found; 
A  stranger's  arms  her  neck  had  bound ! 
I  marked  his  heart  —  the  bow  I  drew  — 

49  129 


ROKEBY 

I  loosed  the  shaft  —  't  was  more  than  true! 
I  found  my  Edith's  dying  charms 
Locked  in  her  murdered  brother's  arms! 
He  came  in  secret  to  enquire 
Her  state  and  reconcile  her  sire. 

XXII 

'All  fled  my  rage  —  the  villain  first 
Whose  craft  my  jealousy  had  nursed; 
He  sought  in  far  and  foreign  clime 
To  'scape  the  vengeance  of  his  crime. 
The  manner  of  the  slaughter  done 
Was  known  to  few,  my  guilt  to  none; 
Some  tale  my  faithful  steward  framed  — 
I  know  not  what  —  of  shaft  mis-aimed ; 
And  even  from  those  the  act  who  knew 
He  hid  the  hand  from  which  it  flew. 
Untouched  by  human  laws  I  stood, 
But  God  had  heard  the  cry  of  blood! 
There  is  a  blank  upon  my  mind, 
A  fearful  vision  ill-defined 
Of  raving  till  my  flesh  was  torn, 
Of  dungeon-bolts  and  fetters  worn  — 
And  when  I  waked  to  woe  more  mild 
And  questioned  of  my  infant  child  — 
Have  I  not  written  that  she  bare 
A  boy,  like  summer  morning  fair?  — 
130 


ROKEBY 

With  looks  confused  my  menials  tell 

That  armed  men  in  Mortham  dell 

Beset  the  nurse's  evening  way, 

And  bore  her  with  her  charge  away. 

My  faithless  friend,  and  none  but  he, 

Could  profit  by  this  villainy; 

Him  then  I  sought  with  purpose  dread 

Of  treble  vengeance  on  his  head ! 

He  'scaped  me  —  but  my  bosom's  wound 

Some  faint  relief  from  wandering  found, 

And  over  distant  land  and  sea 

I  bore  my  load  of  misery. 

XXIII 

'  'T  was  then  that  fate  my  footsteps  led 
Among  a  daring  crew  and  dread. 
With  whom  full  oft  my  hated  life 
I  ventured  in  such  desperate  strife 
That  even  my  fierce  associates  saw 
My  frantic  deeds  with  doubt  and  awe. 
Much  then  I  learned  and  much  can  show 
Of  human  guilt  and  human  woe. 
Yet  ne'er  have  in  my  wanderings  known 
A  wretch  whose  sorrows  matched  my  own ! 
It  chanced  that  after  battle  fray 
Upon  the  bloody  field  we  lay; 
The  yellow  moon  her  lustre  shed 
131 


ROKEBY 

Upon  the  wounded  and  the  dead, 
While,  sense  in  toil  and  wassail  drowned, 
My  ruffian  comrades  slept  around, 
There  came  a  voice  —  its  silver  tone 
Was  soft,  Matilda,  as  thine  own  — 
"Ah,  wretch!"  it  said,  "what  mak'st  thou  here, 
While  unavenged  my  bloody  bier. 
While  unprotected  lives  mine  heir 
Without  a  father's  name  and  care?" 

XXIV 

*  I  heard  —  obeyed  —  and  homeward  drew ; 
The  fiercest  of  our  desperate  crew 
I  brought,  at  time  of  need  to  aid 
My  purposed  vengeance  long  delayed. 
But  humble  be  my  thanks  to  Heaven 
That  better  hopes  and  thoughts  has  given, 
And  by  our  Lord's  dear  prayer  has  taught 
Mercy  by  mercy  must  be  bought !  — 
Let  me  in  misery  rejoice  — 
I  've  seen  his  face  —  I  've  heard  his  voice  — 
I  claimed  of  him  my  only  child  — 
As  he  disowned  the  theft,  he  smiled ! 
That  very  calm  and  callous  look. 
That  fiendish  sneer  his  visage  took, 
As  when  he  said,  in  scornful  mood, 

"There  is  a  gallant  in  the  wood!"  — 
132 


ROKEBY 

I  (lid  not  slay  him  as  he  stood  — ■ 
All  praise  be  to  my  Maker  given! 
Long  suffrance  is  one  path  to  heaven.* 

XXV 

Thus  far  the  woful  tale  was  heard 
When  something  in  the  thicket  stirred. 
Up  Redmond  sprung;  the  villain  Guy  — 
For  he  it  was  that  lurked  so  nigh  — 
Drew  back  —  he  durst  not  cross  his  steel 
A  moment's  space  with  brave  O'Neale 
For  all  the  treasured  gold  that  rests 
In  Mortham's  iron-banded  chests. 
Redmond  resumed  his  seat ;  —  he  said 
Some  roe  was  rustling  in  the  shade. 
Bertram  laughed  grimly  when  he  saw 
His  timorous  comrade  backward  draw; 
'A  trusty  mate  art  thou,  to  fear 
A  single  arm,  and  aid  so  near! 
Yet  have  I  seen  thee  mark  a  deer. 
Give  me  thy  carabine  —  I  '11  show 
An  art  that  thou  wilt  gladly  know, 
How  thou  mayst  safely  quell  a  foe.' 

XXVI 

On  hands  and  knees  fierce  Bertram  drew 

The  spreading  birch  and  hazels  through, 

133 


ROKEBY 

Till  he  had  Redmond  full  in  view; 
The  gun  he  levelled  —  Mark  like  this 
Was  Bertram  never  k;nown  to  miss, 
When  fair  opposed  to  aim  there  sate 
An  object  of  his  mortal  hate. 
That  day  young  Redmond's  death  had  seen, 
But  twice  Matilda  came  between 
The  carabine  and  Redmond's  breast 
Just  ere  the  spring  his  finger  pressed. 
A  deadly  oath  the  ruffian  swore. 
But  yet  his  fell  design  forbore: 
*It  ne'er,'  he  muttered,  'shall  be  said 
That  thus  I  scathed  thee,  haughty  maid!* 
Then  moved  to  seek  more  open  aim. 
When  to  his  side  Guy  Denzil  came: 
'Bertram,  forbear!  —  we  are  undone 
For  ever,  if  thou  fire  the  gun. 
By  all  the  fiends,  an  armed  force 
Descends  the  dell  of  foot  and  horse! 
We  perish  if  they  hear  a  shot  — 
Madman!  we  have  a  safer  plot  — 
Nay,  friend,  be  ruled,  and  bear  thee  back! 
Behold,  down  yonder  hollow  track 
The  warlike  leader  of  the  band 
Comes  with  his  broadsword  in  his  hand.* 
Bertram  looked  up;  he  saw,  he  knew 
That  Denzil's  fears  had  counselled  true, 
134 


ROKEBY 

Then  cursed  his  fortune  and  withdrew, 
Threaded  the  woodlands  undescried, 
And  gained  the  cave  on  Greta-side. 

XXVII 

They  whom  dark  Bertram  in  his  wrath 
Doomed  to  captivity  or  death, 
Their  thoughts  to  one  sad  subject  lent. 
Saw  not  nor  heard  the  ambushment. 
Heedless  and  unconcerned  they  sate 
While  on  the  very  verge  of  fate, 
Heedless  and  unconcerned  remained 
When  Heaven  the  murderer's  arm  restrain* 
As  ships  drift  darkling  down  the  tide. 
Nor  see  the  shelves  o'er  which  they  glide. 
Uninterrupted  thus  they  heard 
What  Mortham's  closing  tale  declared. 
He  spoke  of  wealth  as  of  a  load 
By  fortune  on  a  wretch  bestowed, 
In  bitter  mockery  of  hate. 
His  cureless  woes  to  aggravate; 
But  yet  he  prayed  Matilda's  care 
Might  save  that  treasure  for  his  heir  — 
His  Edith's  son  —  for  still  he  raved 
As  confident  his  life  was  saved ; 
In  frequent  vision,  he  averred, 
He  saw  his  face,  his  voice  he  heard, 
135 


ROKEBY 

Then  argued  calm  —  had  murder  been, 

The  blood,  the  corpses,  had  been  seen; 

Some  had  pretended,  too,  to  mark 

On  Windermere  a  stranger  bark, 

Whose  crew,  with  jealous  care  yet  mild, 

Guarded  a  female  and  a  child. 

While  these  faint  proofs  he  told  and  pressed, 

Hope  seemed  to  kindle  in  his  breast ; 

Though  inconsistent,  vague,  and  vain, 

It  warped  his  judgment  and  his  brain. 

XXVIII 

These  solemn  words  his  story  close :  — 
*  Heaven  witness  for  me  that  I  chose 
My  part  in  this  sad  civil  fight 
Moved  by  no  cause  but  England's  right. 
My  country's  groans  have  bid  me  draw 
My  sword  for  gospel  and  for  law;  — 
These  righted,  I  fling  arms  aside 
And  seek  my  son  through  Europe  wide. 
My  wealth,  on  which  a  kinsman  nigh 
Already  casts  a  grasping  eye. 
With  thee  may  unsuspected  lie. 
When  of  my  death  Matilda  hears, 
Let  her  retain  her  trust  three  years; 
If  none  from  me  the  treasure  claim. 
Perished  is  Mortham's  race  and  name. 
136 


ROKEBY 

Then  let  It  leave  her  generous  hand, 
And  flow  in  bounty  o'er  the  land, 
Soften  the  wounded  prisoner's  lot. 
Rebuild  the  peasant's  ruined  cot; 
So  spoils,  acquired  by  fight  afar, 
Shall  mitigate  domestic  war.' 

XXIX 

The  generous  youths,  who  well  had  known 
Of  Mortham's  mind  the  powerful  tone, 
To  that  high  mind  by  sorrow  swerved 
Gave  sympathy  his  woes  deserved ; 
But  Wilfrid  chief,  who  saw  revealed 
Why  Mortham  wished  his  life  concealed, 
In  secret,  doubtless,  to  pursue 
The  schemes  his  'wildered  fancy  drew. 
Thoughtful  he  heard  Matilda  tell 
That  she  would  share  her  father's  cell. 
His  partner  of  captivity. 
Where'er  his  prison-house  should  be; 
Yet  grieved  to  think  that  Rokeby  Hall, 
Dismantled  and  forsook  by  all. 
Open  to  rapine  and  to  stealth, 
Had  now  no  safeguard  for  the  wealth 
Entrusted  by  her  kinsman  kind 
And  for  such  noble  use  designed. 
*  Was  Barnard  Castle  then  her  choice,* 
137 


ROKEBY 

Wilfrid  enquired  with  hasty  voice, 
'Since  there  the  victor's  laws  ordain 
Her  father  must  a  space  remain? ' 
A  fluttered  hope  his  accent  shook, 
A  fluttered  joy  was  in  his  look. 
Matilda  hastened  to  reply, 
For  anger  flashed  in  Redmond's  eye;  — 
'Duty,'  she  said,  with  gentle  grace, 
'Kind  Wilfrid,  has  no  choice  of  place; 
Else  had  I  for  my  sire  assigned 
Prison  less  galling  to  his  mind 
Than  that  his  wild-wood  haunts  which  sees 
And  hears  the  murmur  of  the  Tees, 
Recalling  thus  with  every  glance 
What  captive's  sorrow  can  enhance; 
But  where  those  woes  are  highest,  there 
Needs  Rokeby  most  his  daughter's  care.' 

XXX 

He  felt  the  kindly  check  she  gave. 
And  stood  abashed  —  then  answered  grave : 
'I  sought  thy  purpose,  noble  maid, 
Thy  doubts  to  clear,  thy  schemes  to  aid. 
I  have  beneath  mine  own  command, 
So  wills  my  sire,  a  gallant  band. 
And  well  could  send  some  horsemen  wight 
To  bear  the  treasure  forth  by  night, 
138 


f 


ROKEBY 

And  so  bestow  it  as  you  deem 

In  these  ill  days  may  safest  seem.' 

'Thanks,  gentle  Wilfrid,  thanks,'  she  said: 

*  O,  be  it  not  one  day  delayed ! 
And,  more  thy  sister-friend  to  aid, 
Be  thou  thyself  content  to  hold 
In  thine  own  keeping  Mortham's  gold. 
Safest  with  thee.'  —  While  thus  she  spoke, 
Armed  soldiers  on  their  converse  broke, 
The  same  of  whose  approach  afraid 
The  ruffians  left  their  ambuscade. 
Their  chief  to  Wilfrid  bended  low, 
Then  looked  around  as  for  a  foe. 

'What  mean'st  thou,  friend,'  young  Wycliffe 
said, 

'Why  thus  in  arms  beset  the  glade?' 

'That  would  I  gladly  learn  from  you; 
For  up  my  squadron  as  I  drew 
To  exercise  our  martial  game 
Upon  the  moor  of  Barninghame, 
A  stranger  told  you  were  waylaid, 
Surrounded,  and  to  death  betrayed. 
He  had  a  leader's  voice,  I  ween, 
A  falcon  glance,  a  warrior's  mien. 
He  bade  me  bring  you  instant  aid ; 
I  doubted  not  and  I  obeyed.' 


139 


ROKEBY 

XXXI 

Wilfrid  changed  colour,  and  amazed 
Turned  short  and  on  the  speaker  gazed, 
While  Redmond  every  thicket  round 
Tracked  earnest  as  a  questing  hound, 
And  Denzil's  carabine  he  found; 
Sure  evidence  by  which  they  knew 
The  warning  was  as  kind  as  true. 
Wisest  it  seemed  with  cautious  speed 
To  leave  the  dell.   It  was  agreed 
That  Redmond  with  Matilda  fair 
And  fitting  guard  should  home  repair; 
Aft  nightfall  Wilfrid  should  attend 
With  a  strong  band  his  sister-friend. 
To  bear  with  her  from  Rokeby's  bowers 
To  Barnard  Castle's  lofty  towers 
Secret  and  safe  the  banded  chests 
In  which  the  wealth  of  Mortham  rests. 
This  hasty  purpose  fixed,  they  part, 
Each  with  a  grieved  and  anxious  heart. 


CANTO  FIFTH 

I 

The  sultry  summer  day  is  done, 
The  western  hills  have  hid  the  soin, 
But  mountain  peak  and  village  spire 
Retain  reflection  of  his  fire. 
Old  Barnard's  towers  are  purple  still 
To  those  that  gaze  from  Toller  Hill ; 
Distant  and  high,  the  tower  of  Bowes 
Like  steel  upon  the  anvil  glows; 
And  Stanmore's  ridge  behind  that  lay 
Rich  with  the  spoils  of  parting  day, 
In  crimson  and  in  gold  arrayed. 
Streaks  yet  awhile  the  closing  shade. 
Then  slow  resigns  to  darkening  heaven 
The  tints  which  brighter  hours  had  given. 
Thus  aged  men  full  loth  and  slow 
The  vanities  of  life  forego. 
And  count  their  youthful  follies  o'er 
Till  memory  lends  her  light  no  more. 

II 

The  eve  that  slow  on  upland  fades 
Has  darker  closed  on  Rokeby's  glades 
Where,  sunk  within  their  banks  profound, 
141 


ROKEBY 

Her  guardian  streams  to  meeting  wound. 
The  stately  oaks,  whose  sombre  frown 
Of  noontide  made  a  twihght  brown, 
Impervious  now  to  fainter  light, 
Of  twilight  make  an  early  night. 
Hoarse  into  middle  air  arose 
The  vespers  of  the  roosting  crows. 
And  with  congenial  murmurs  seem 
To  wake  the  Genii  of  the  stream; 
For  louder  clamoured  Greta's  tide, 
And  Tees  in  deeper  voice  replied, 
And  fitful  waked  the  evening  wind. 
Fitful  in  sighs  its  breath  resigned. 
Wilfrid,  whose  fancy-nurtured  soul 
Felt  in  the  scene  a  soft  control, 
With  lighter  footstep  pressed  the  ground, 
And  often  paused  to  look  around; 
And,  though  his  path  was  to  his  love, 
Could  not  but  linger  in  the  grove. 
To  drink  the  thrilling  interest  dear 
Of  awful  pleasure  checked  by  fear. 
Such  inconsistent  moods  have  we, 
Even  when  our  passions  strike  the  key. 

Ill 

Now,  through  the  wood's  dark  mazes  past. 
The  opening  lawn  he  reached  at  last 
142 


ROKEBY 

Where,  silvered  by  the  moonlight  ray, 
The  ancient  Hall  before  him  lay. 
Those  martial  terrors  long  were  fled 
That  frowned  of  old  around  its  head : 
The  battlements,  the  turrets  grey. 
Seemed  half  abandoned  to  decay ;  ^ 
On  barbican  and  keep  of  stone 
Stern  Time  the  foeman's  work  had  done. 
Where  banners  the  invader  braved. 
The  harebell  now  and  wallflower  waved ; 
In  the  rude  guard-room  where  of  yore 
Their  weary  hours  the  warders  wore, 
Now,  while  the  cheerful  faggots  blaze, 
On  the  paved  floor  the  spindle  plays; 
The  flanking  guns  dismounted  lie. 
The  moat  is  ruinous  and  dry, 
The  grim  portcullis  gone  —  and  all 
The  fortress  turned  to  peaceful  Hall. 

IV 

But  yet  precautions  lately  ta'en 
Showed  danger's  day  revived  again; 
The  courtyard  wall  showed  marks  of  care 
The  fall'n  defences  to  repair, 
Lending  such  strength  as  might  withstand 
The  insult  of  marauding  band. 

>  See  Note  S4. 


ROKEBY 

The  beams  once  more  were  taught  to  bear 
The  trembling  drawbridge  into  air, 
And  not  till  questioned  o'er  and  o'er 
For  Wilfrid  oped  the  jealous  door, 
And  when  he  entered  bolt  and  bar 
Resumed  their  place  with  sullen  jar; 
Then,  as  he  crossed  the  vaulted  porch, 
The  old  grey  porter  raised  his  torch, 
And  viewed  him  o'er  from  foot  to  head 
Ere  to  the  hall  his  steps  he  led. 
That  huge  old  hall  of  knightly  state 
Dismantled  seemed  and  desolate. 
The  moon  through  transom-shafts  of  stone 
Which  crossed  the  latticed  oriels  shone, 
And  by  the  mournful  light  she  gave 
The  Gothic  vault  seemed  funeral  cave. 
Pennon  and  banner  waved  no  more 
O'er  beams  of  stag  and  tusks  of  boar, 
Nor  glimmering  arms  were  marshalled  seen 
To  glance  those  sylvan  spoils  between. 
Those  arms,  those  ensigns,  borne  away, 
Accomplished  Rokeby's  brave  array, 
But  all  were  lost  on  Marston's  day! 
Yet  here  and  there  the  moonbeams  fall 
Where  armour  yet  adorns  the  wall. 
Cumbrous  of  size,  uncouth  to  sight, 
And  useless  in  the  modern  fight, 
144 


ROKEBY 

Like  veteran  relic  of  the  wars 
Known  only  by  neglected  scars. 

V 

Matilda  soon  to  greet  him  came, 
And  bade  them  light  the  evening  flame; 
Said  all  for  parting  was  prepared, 
And  tarried  but  for  Wilfrid's  guard. 
But  then,  reluctant  to  unfold 
His  father's  avarice  of  gold, 
He  hinted  that  lest  jealous  eye 
Should  on  their  precious  burden  pry. 
He  judged  it  best  the  castle-gate 
To  enter  when  the  night  wore  late ; 
And  therefore  he  had  left  command 
With  those  he  trusted  of  his  band 
That  they  should  be  at  Rokeby  met 
What  time  the  midnight-watch  was  set. 
Now  Redmond  came,  whose  anxious  care 
Till  then  was  busied  to  prepare 
All  needful,  meetly  to  arrange 
The  mansion  for  its  mournful  change. 
With  Wilfrid's  care  and  kindness  pleased, 
His  cold  unready  hand  he  seized. 
And  pressed  it  till  his  kindly  strain 
The  gentle  youth  returned  again. 
Seemed  as  between  them  this  was  said, 

49  145 


ROKEBY 

'Awhile  let  jealousy  be  dead, 
And  let  our  contest  be  whose  care 
Shall  best  assist  this  helpless  fair.* 

VI 

There  was  no  speech  the  truce  to  bind ; 
It  was  a  compact  of  the  mind, 
A  generous  thought  at  once  impressed 
On  either  rival's  generous  breast. 
Matilda  well  the  secret  took 
From  sudden  change  of  mien  and  look, 
And  —  for  not  small  had  been  her  fear 
Of  jealous  ire  and  danger  near  — 
Felt  even  in  her  dejected  state 
A  joy  beyond  the  reach  of  fate. 
They  closed  beside  the  chimney's  blaze. 
And  talked,  and  hoped  for  happier  days, 
And  lent  their  spirits'  rising  glow 
Awhile  to  gild  impending  woe  — 
High  privilege  of  youthful  time, 
Worth  all  the  pleasures  of  our  prime! 
The  bickering  faggot  sparkled  bright 
And  gave  the  scene  of  love  to  sight, 
Bade  Wilfrid's  cheek  more  lively  glow. 
Played  on  Matilda's  neck  of  snow. 
Her  nut-brown  curls  and  forehead  high, 
And  laughed  in  Redmond's  azure  eye. 
146 


ROKEBY 

Two  lovers  by  the  maiden  sate 

Without  a  glance  of  jealous  hate; 

The  maid  her  lovers  sat  between 

With  open  brow  and  equal  mien ; 

It  is  a  sight  but  rarely  spied, 

Thanks  to  man's  wrath  and  woman's  pride. 

VII 

While  thus  in  peaceful  guise  they  sate 
A  knock  alarmed  the  outer  gate, 
And  ere  the  tardy  porter  stirred 
The  tinkling  of  a  harp  was  heard. 
A  manly  voice  of  mellow  swell 
Bore  burden  to  the  music  well :  — 

SONG 

'Summer  eve  is  gone  and  past, 
Summer  dew  is  falling  fast; 
I  have  wandered  all  the  day. 
Do  not  bid  me  farther  stray ! 
Gentle  hearts  of  gentle  kin. 
Take  the  wandering  harper  in !  * 

But  the  stern  porter  answer  gave. 
With  'Get  thee  hence,  thou  strolling  knave! 
The  king  wants  soldiers;  war,  I  trow. 
Were  meeter  trade  for  such  as  thou.' 
147 


ROKEBY 

At  this  unkind  reproof  again 
Answered  the  ready  Minstrel's  strain:  — 

SONG  RESUMED 

'  Bid  not  me,  in  battle-field, 
Buckler  lift  or  broadsword  wield! 
All  my  strength  and  all  my  art 
Is  to  touch  the  gentle  heart 
With  the  wizard  notes  that  ring 
From  the  peaceful  minstrel-string.' 

The  porter,  all  unmoved,  replied,  — 
'Depart  in  peace,  with  Heaven  to  guide; 
If  longer  by  the  gate  thou  dwell, 
Trust  me,  thou  shalt  not  part  so  well.* 

VIII 

With  somewhat  of  appealing  look 
The  harper's  part  young  Wilfrid  took: 
'These  notes  so  wild  and  ready  thrill, 
They  show  no  vulgar  minstrel's  skill; 
Hard  were  his  task  to  seek  a  home 
More  distant,  since  the  night  is  come; 
And  for  his  faith  I  dare  engage  — 
Your  Harpool's  blood  is  soured  by  age; 
His  gate,  once  readily  displayed 
To  greet  the  friend,  the  poor  to  aid, 
148 


ROKEBY 

Now  even  to  me  though  known  of  old 
Did  but  reluctantly  unfold.'  — 
'O  blame  not  as  poor  Harpool's  crime 
An  evil  of  this  evil  time. 
He  deems  dependent  on  his  care 
The  safety  of  his  patron's  heir, 
Nor  judges  meet  to  ope  the  tower 
To  guest  unknown  at  parting  hour, 
Urging  his  duty  to  excess 
Of  rough  and  stubborn  faithfulness. 
For  this  poor  harper,  I  would  fain 
He  may  relax:  —  hark  to  his  strain!* 

IX 
SONG   RESUMED 

*  I  have  song  of  war  for  knight, 
Lay  of  love  for  lady  bright, 
Fairy  tale  to  lull  the  heir. 
Goblin  grim  the  maids  to  scare. 
Dark  the  night  and  long  till  day, 
Do  not  bid  me  farther  stray ! 

'Rokeby's  lords  of  martial  fame, 
I  can  count  them  name  by  name ;  * 
Legends  of  their  line  there  be. 
Known  to  few,  but  known  to  me; 

•  See  Note  S5. 
149 


ROKEBY 

If  you  honour  Rokeby's  kin, 
Take  the  wandering  harper  in ! 

*  Rokeby's  lords  had  fair  regard 
For  the  harp  and  for  the  bard ; 
Baron's  race  throve  never  well 
Where  the  curse  of  minstrel  fell. 
If  you  love  that  noble  kin, 
Take  the  weary  harper  in !  * 

'Hark!  Harpool  parleys  —  there  is  hope,' 
Said  Redmond,  'that  the  gate  will  ope.'  — 
'  For  all  thy  brag  and  boast,  I  trow. 
Nought  knowest  thou  of  the  Felon  Sow,'  ^ 
Quoth  Harpool,  'nor  how  Greta-side 
She  roamed  and  Rokeby  forest  wide; 
Nor  how  Ralph  Rokeby  gave  the  beast 
To  Richmond's  friars  to  make  a  feast. 
Of  Gilbert  Griffinson  the  tale 
Goes,  and  of  gallant  Peter  Dale 
That  well  could  strike  with  sword  amain, 
And  of  the  valiant  son  of  Spain, 
Friar  MIddleton,  and  blithe  Sir  Ralph; 
There  were  a  jest  to  make  us  laugh! 
If  thou  canst  tell  it,  in  yon  shed. 
Thou  'st  won  thy  supper  and  thy  bed.* 

>  See  Note  56. 

ISO 


ROKEBY 

X 

Matilda  smiled;  'Cold  hope,'  said  she, 
'From  Harpool's  love  of  minstrelsy! 
But  for  this  harper  may  we  dare, 
Redmond,  to  mend  his  couch  and  fare?'  - 
*  O,  ask  me  not !  —  At  minstrel-string 
My  heart  from  infancy  would  spring; 
Nor  can  I  hear  its  simplest  strain 
But  it  brings  Erin's  dream  again, 
When  placed  by  Owen  Lysagh's  knee  — 
The  Filea  of  O'Neale  was  he,^ 
A  blind  and  bearded  man  whose  eld 
Was  sacred  as  a  prophet's  held  — 
I  've  seen  a  ring  of  rugged  kerne, 
With  aspects  shaggy,  wild,  and  stern, 
Enchanted  by  the  master's  lay. 
Linger  around  the  livelong  day, 
Shift  from  wild  rage  to  wilder  glee. 
To  love,  to  grief,  to  ecstasy. 
And  feel  each  varied  change  of  soul 
Obedient  to  the  bard's  control.  — 
Ah!  Clandeboy!  thy  friendly  floor 
Slieve-Donard's  oak  shall  light  no  more;' 
Nor  Owen's  harp  beside  the  blaze 
Tell  maiden's  love  or  hero's  praise ! 

>  See  Note  S7.  *  See  Note  s8. 


ROKEBY 

The  mantling  brambles  hide  thy  hearth, 
Centre  of  hospitable  mirth ; 
All  undistinguished  in  the  glade, 
My  sires'  glad  home  is  prostrate  laid, 
Their  vassals  wander  wide  and  far. 
Serve  foreign  lords  in  distant  war, 
And  now  the  stranger's  sons  enjoy 
The  lovely  woods  of  Clandeboy!' 
He  spoke,  and  proudly  turned  aside 
The  starting  tear  to  dry  and  hide. 

XI 

Matilda's  dark  and  softened  eye 
Was  glistening  ere  O'Neale's  was  dry. 
Her  hand  upon  his  arm  she  laid,  — 
'It  is  the  will  of  Heaven,'  she  said. 
'And  think'st  thou,  Redmond,  I  can  part 
From  this  loved  home  with  lightsome  heart, 
Leaving  to  wild  neglect  whate'er 
Even  from  my  infancy  was  dear? 
For  in  this  calm  domestic  bound 
Were  all  Matilda's  pleasures  found. 
That  hearth  my  sire  was  wont  to  grace 
Full  soon  may  be  a  stranger's  place ; 
This  hall  in  which  a  child  I  played 
Like  thine,  dear  Redmond,  lowly  laid, 
The  bramble  and  the  thorn  may  braid ; 
152 


ROKEBY 

Or,  passed  for  aye  from  me  and  mine, 

It  ne'er  may  shelter  Rokeby's  line. 

Yet  is  this  consolation  given, 

My  Redmond,  —  't  is  the  will  of  Heaven.* 

Her  word,  her  action,  and  her  phrase 

Were  kindly  as  in  early  days; 

For  cold  reserve  had  lost  its  power 

In  sorrow's  sympathetic  hour. 

Young  Redmond  dared  not  trust  his  voice; 

But  rather  had  it  been  his  choice 

To  share  that  melancholy  hour 

Than,  armed  with  all  a  chieftain's  power, 

In  full  possession  to  enjoy 

Slieve-Donard  wide  and  Clandeboy. 

XII 

The  blood  left  Wilfrid's  ashen  cheek, 
Matilda  sees  and  hastes  to  speak.  — 
'Happy  in  friendship's  ready  aid, 
Let  all  my  murmurs  here  be  staid ! 
And  Rokeby's  maiden  will  not  part 
From  Rokeby's  hall  with  moody  heart. 
This  night  at  least  for  Rokeby's  fame 
The  hospitable  hearth  shall  flame, 
And  ere  its  native  heir  retire 
Find  for  the  wanderer  rest  and  fire, 
While  this  poor  harper  by  the  blaze 
153 


ROKEBY 

Recounts  the  tale  of  other  days. 

Bid  Harpool  ope  the  door  with  speed, 

Admit  him  and  relieve  each  need.  — 

Meantime,  kind  Wyclifife,  wilt  thou  try 

Thy  minstrel  skill?  —  Nay,  no  reply  — 

And  look  not  sad!  —  I  guess  thy  thought; 

Thy  verse  with  laurels  would  be  bought, 

And  poor  Matilda,  landless  now, 

Has  not  a  garland  for  thy  brow. 

True,  I  must  leave  sweet  Rokeby's  glades, 

Nor  wander  more  in  Greta  shades; 

But  sure,  no  rigid  jailer,  thou 

Wilt  a  short  prison-walk  allow 

Where  summer  flowers  grow  wild  at  will 

On  Marwood  Chase  and  Toller  Hill ;  ^ 

Then  holly  green  and  lily  gay 

Shall  twine  in  guerdon  of  thy  lay.* 

The  mournful  youth  a  space  aside 

To  tune  Matilda's  harp  applied. 

And  then  a  low  sad  descant  rung 

As  prelude  to  the  lay  he  sung. 

XIII 
THE   CYPRESS   WREATH 

'O,  lady,  twine  no  wreath  for  me, 
Or  twine  it  of  the  cypress  tree! 

>  See  Note  S9. 


ROKEBY 

Too  lively  glow  the  lilies  light, 
The  varnished  holly  's  all  too  bright, 
The  May-flower  and  the  eglantine 
May  shade  a  brow  less  sad  than  mine; 
But,  lady,  weave  no  wreath  for  me, 
Or  weave  it  of  the  cypress  tree ! 

'Let  dimpled  Mirth  his  temples  twine 
With  tendrils  of  the  laughing  vine ; 
The  manly  oak,  the  pensive  yew, 
To  patriot  and  to  sage  be  due; 
The  myrtle  bough  bids  lovers  live. 
But  that  Matilda  will  not  give; 
Then,  lady,  twine  no  wreath  for  me, 
Or  twine  it  of  the  cypress  tree ! 

'Let  merry  England  proudly  rear 
Her  blended  roses  bought  so  dear ; 
Let  Albin  bind  her  bonnet  blue 
With  heath  and  harebell  dipped  in  dew; 
On  favoured  Erin's  crest  be  seen 
The  flower  she  loves  of  emerald  green  — 
But,  lady,  twine  no  wreath  for  me. 
Or  twine  it  of  the  cypress  tree. 

'Strike  the  wild  harp  while  maids  prepare 
The  ivy  meet  for  minstrel's  hair; 


ROKEBY 

And,  while  his  crown  of  laurel  leaves 
With  bloody  hand  the  victor  weaves, 
Let  the  loud  trump  his  triumph  tell; 
But  when  you  hear  the  passing-bell, 
Then,  lady,  twine  a  wreath  for  me. 
And  twine  it  of  the  cypress  tree. 

*Yes!  twine  for  me  the  cypress  bough; 
But,  O  Matilda,  twine  not  now! 
Stay  till  a  few  brief  months  are  past, 
And  I  have  looked  and  loved  my  last! 
When  villagers  my  shroud  bestrew 
With  pansies,  rosemary,  and  rue,  — 
Then,  lady,  weave  a  wreath  for  liie, 
And  weave  it  of  the  cypress  tree.' 

XIV 

O'Neale  observed  the  starting  tear, 
And  spoke  with  kind  and  blithesome  cheer 
'  No,  noble  Wilfrid !  ere  the  day 
When  mourns  the  land  thy  silent  lay. 
Shall  many  a  wreath  be  freely  wove 
By  hand  of  friendship  and  of  love. 
I  would  not  wish  that  rigid  Fate 
Had  doomed  thee  to  a  captive's  state, 
Whose  hands  are  bound  by  honour's  law. 
Who  wears  a  sword  he  must  not  draw; 
iS6 


ROKEBY 

But  were  it  so,  in  minstrel  pride 

The  land  together  would  we  ride 

On  prancing  steeds,  like  harpers  old, 

Bound  for  the  halls  of  barons  bold; 

Each  lover  of  the  lyre  we  'd  seek 

From  Michael's  Mount  to  Skiddaw's  Peak, 

Survey  wild  Albin's  mountain  strand, 

And  roam  green  Erin's  lovely  land, 

While  thou  the  gentler  souls  should  move 

With  lay  of  pity  and  of  love. 

And  I,  thy  mate,  in  rougher  strain 

Would  sing  of  war  and  warriors  slain. 

Old  England's  bards  were  vanquished  then, 

And  Scotland's  vaunted  Hawthornden,^ 

And,  silenced  on  lernian  shore, 

M'Curtin's  harp  should  charm  no  more!'* 

In  lively  mood  he  spoke  to  wile 

From  Wilfrid's  woe-worn  cheek  a  smile. 

XV 

*But,'  said  Matilda,  'ere  thy  name, 
Good  Redmond,  gain  its  destined  fame. 
Say,  wilt  thou  kindly  deign  to  call 
Thy  brother-minstrel  to  the  hall? 
Bid  all  the  household  too  attend. 
Each  in  his  rank  a  humble  friend; 

•  See  Note  60.  '  See  Note  6r. 

157 


ROKEBY 

I  know  their  faithful  hearts  will  grieve 

When  their  poor  mistress  takes  her  leave; 

So  let  the  horn  and  beaker  flow 

To  mitigate  their  parting  woe.' 

The  harper  came;  —  in  youth's  first  prime 

Himself ;  in  mode  of  olden  time 

His  garb  was  fashioned,  to  express 

The  ancient  English  minstrel's  dress/ 

A  seemly  gown  of  Kendal  green 

With  gorget  closed  of  silver  sheen ; 

His  harp  in  silken  scarf  was  slung, 

And  by  his  side  an  anlace  hung. 

It  seemed  some  masquer's  quaint  array 

For  revel  or  for  holiday. 

XVI 

He  made  obeisance  with  a  free 
Yet  studied  air  of  courtesy. 
Each  look  and  accent  framed  to  please 
Seemed  to  affect  a  playful  ease; 
His  face  was  of  that  doubtful  kind 
That  wins  the  eye,  but  not  the  mind ; 
Yet  harsh  it  seemed  to  deem  amiss 
Of  brow  so  young  and  smooth  as  this. 
His  was  the  subtle  look  and  sly 
That,  spying  all,  seems  nought  to  spy; 

•  See  Note  62. 


ROKEBY 

Round  all  the  group  his  glances  stole, 
Unmarked  themselves,  to  mark  the  whole. 
Yet  sunk  beneath  Matilda's  look, 
Nor  could  the  eye  of  Redmond  brook. 
To  the  suspicious  or  the  old 
Subtle  and  dangerous  and  bold 
Had  seemed  this  self-invited  guest; 
But  young  our  lovers,  —  and  the  rest, 
Wrapt  in  their  sorrow  and  their  fear 
At  parting  of  their  Mistress  dear, 
Tear-blinded  to  the  castle-hall 
Came  as  to  bear  her  funeral  pall. 


XVII 

All  that  expression  base  was  gone 

When  waked  the  guest  his  minstrel  tone; 

It  fled  at  Inspiration's  call, 

As  erst  the  demon  fled  from  Saul. 

More  noble  glance  he  cast  around. 

More  free-drawn  breath  inspired  the  sound, 

His  pulse  beat  bolder  and  more  high 

In  all  the  pride  of  minstrelsy! 

Alas !  too  soon  that  pride  was  o'er. 

Sunk  with  the  lay  that  bade  it  soar! 

His  soul  resumed  with  habit's  chain 

Its  vices  wild  and  follies  vain, 

159 


ROKEBY 

And  gave  the  talent  with  him  born 
To  be  a  common  curse  and  scorn. 
Such  was  the  youth  whom  Rokeby's  maid 
With  condescending  kindness  prayed 
Here  to  renew  the  strains  she  loved,  ,^ 
At  distance  heard  and  well  approved. 

XVIII 

SONG 

THE  HARP 

*  I  was  a  wild  and  wayward  boy, 

My  childhood  scorned  each  childish  toy; 
Retired  from  all,  reserved  and  coy, 

To  musing  prone, 
I  wooed  my  solitary  joy, 

My  Harp  alone. 

*  My  youth  with  bold  ambition's  mood 
Despised  the  humble  stream  and  wood 
Where  my  poor  father's  cottage  stood, 

To  fame  unknown;  — 
What  should  my  soaring  views  make  good? 
My  Harp  alone! 

*  Love  came  with  all  his  frantic  fire, 
And  wild  romance  of  vain  desire: 

i6o 


ROKEBY 

The  baron's  daughter  heard  my  lyre 
And  praised  the  tone;  — 

What  could  presumptuous  hope  inspire? 
My  Harp  alone! 

*At  manhood's  touch  the  bubble  burst, 
And  manhood's  pride  the  vision  curst, 
And  all  that  had  my  folly  nursed 

Love's  sway  to  own; 
Yet  spared  the  spell  that  lulled  me  first, 

My  Harp  alone! 

*Woe  came  with  war,  and  want  with  woe. 
And  it  was  mine  to  undergo 
Each  outrage  of  the  rebel  foe :  — 

Can  aught  atone 
My  fields  laid  waste,  my  cot  laid  low? 

My  Harp  alone! 

*  Ambition's  dreams  I  've  seen  depart, 
Have  rued  of  penury  the  smart, 
Have  felt  of  love  the  venomed  dart. 

When  hope  was  flown; 
Yet  rests  one  solace  to  my  heart,  — 
My  Harp  alone! 

*  Then  over  mountain,  moor,  and  hill, 
My  faithful  Harp,  I'll  bear  thee  still; 

49  i6i 


ROKEBY 

And  when  this  life  of  want  and  ill 

Is  wellnigh  gone, 
Thy  strings  mine  elegy  shall  thrill, 

My  Harp  alone!* 


XIX 

*A  pleasing  lay!'  Matilda  said; 
But  Harpool  shook  his  old  grey  head, 
And  took  his  baton  and  his  torch 
To  seek  his  guard-room  in  the  porch. 
Edmund  observed  —  with  sudden  change 
Among  the  strings  his  fingers  range, 
Until  they  waked  a  bolder  glee 
Of  military  melody; 
Then  paused  amid  the  martial  sound, 
And  looked  with  well-feigned  fear  around :  — 

'None  to  this  noble  house  belong,' 
He  said,  'that  would  a  minstrel  wrong 
Whose  fate  has  been  through  good  and  ill 
To  love  his  Royal  Master  still, 
And  with  your  honoured  leave  would  fain 
Rejoice  you  with  a  royal  strain.* 
Then,  as  assured  by  sign  and  look, 
The  warlike  tone  again  he  took ; 
And  Harpool  stopped  and  turned  to  hear 
A  ditty  of  the  Cavalier. 
162 


4 


ROKEBY 

XX 

SONG 
THE  CAVALIER 

*  While  the  dawn  on  the  mountain  was  misty  and  grey, 
My  true  love  has  mounted  his  steed  and  away, 

Over  hill,  over  valley,  o'er  dale,  and  o'er  down; 
Heaven  shield  the  brave  gallant  that  fights  for  the 
Crown ! 

*  He  has  doffed  the  silk  doublet  the  breastplate  to  bear, 
He  has  placed  the  steel-cap  o'er  his  long-flowing  hair, 
From  his  belt  to  his  stirrup  his  broadsword  hangs 

down,  — 
Heaven  shield  the  brave  gallant  that  fights  for  the 
Crown ! 

*  For  the  rights  of  fair  England  that  broadsword  he 

draws, 
Her  King  is  his  leader,  her  Church  is  his  cause; 
His  watchword  is  honour,  his  pay  is  renown,  — 
God  strike  with  the  gallant  that  strikes  for  the  Crown! 

'  They  may  boast  of  their  Fairfax,  their  Waller,  and  all 
The  roundheaded  rebels  of  Westminster  Hall ; 
But  tell  these  bold  traitors  of  London's  proud  town. 
That  the  spears  of  the  North  have  encircled  the  Crown. 

163 


ROKEBY 

*  There's  Derby  and  Cavendish,  dread  of  their  foes; 
There's  Erin's  highOrmond  and  Scotland's  Montrose! 
Would  you  match  the  base  Skippon,  and  Massey,  and 

Brown, 
With  the  Barons  of  England  that  fight  for  the  Crown? 

'  Now  joy  to  the  crest  of  the  brave  Cavalier! 
Be  his  banner  unconquered,  resistless  his  spear, 
Till  in  peace  and  in  triumph  his  toils  he  may  drown, 
In  a  pledge   to  fair  England,  her  Church,  and  her 
Crown.' 

XXI 

'Alas!'  Matilda  said,  'that  strain. 
Good  harper,  now  is  heard  in  vain! 
The  time  has  been  at  such  a  sound 
When  Rokeby's  vassals  gathered  round. 
An  hundred  manly  hearts  would  bound; 
But  now,  the  stirring  verse  we  hear 
Like  trump  in  dying  soldier's  ear! 
Listless  and  sad  the  notes  we  own. 
The  power  to  answer  them  is  flown. 
Yet  not  without  his  meet  applause 
Be  he  that  sings  the  rightful  cause. 
Even  when  the  crisis  of  its  fate 
To  human  eye  seems  desperate. 
While  Rokeby's  heir  such  power  retains, 
164 


ROKEBY 

Let  this  slight  guerdon  pay  thy  pains:  — 
And  lend  thy  harp;  I  fain  would  try 
If  my  poor  skill  can  aught  supply, 
Ere  yet  I  leave  my  fathers'  hall, 
To  mourn  the  cause  in  which  we  fall.' 

XXII 

The  harper  with  a  downcast  look 
And  trembling  hand  her  bounty  took. 
As  yet  the  conscious  pride  of  art 
Had  steeled  him  in  his  treacherous  part; 
A  powerful  spring  of  force  unguessed 
That  hath  each  gentler  mood  suppressed, 
And  reigned  in  many  a  human  breast. 
From  his  that  plans  the  red  campaign 
To  his  that  wastes  the  woodland  reign. 
The  failing  wing,  the  blood-shot  eye 
The  sportsman  marks  with  apathy, 
Each  feeling  of  his  victim's  ill 
Drowned  in  his  own  successful  skill. 
The  veteran,  too,  who  now  no  more 
Aspires  to  head  the  battle's  roar. 
Loves  still  the  triumph  of  his  art, 
And  traces  on  the  pencilled  chart 
Some  stern  invader's  destined  way 
Through  blood  and  ruin  to  his  prey; 
Patriots  to  death,  and  towns  to  flame 
i6s 


ROKEBY 

He  dooms,  to  raise  another's  name, 

And  shares  the  guilt,  though  not  the  fame. 

What  pays  him  for  his  span  of  time 

Spent  in  premeditating  crime? 

What  against  pity  arms  his  heart? 

It  is  the  conscious  pride  of  art. 

XXIII 

But  principles  in  Edmund's  mind 
Were  baseless,  vague,  and  undefined. 
His  soul,  like  bark  with  rudder  lost, 
On  passion's  changeful  tide  was  tost; 
Nor  vice  nor  virtue  had  the  power 
Beyond  the  impression  of  the  hour; 
And  O,  when  Passion  rules,  how  rare 
The  hours  that  fall  to  Virtue's  share! 
Yet  now  she  roused  her  —  for  the  pride 
That  lack  of  sterner  guilt  supplied 
Could  scarce  support  him  when  arose 
The  lay  that  mourned  Matilda's  woes. 

SONG 
THE   FAREWELL 

^The  sound  of  Rokeby's  woods  I  hear, 

They  mingle  with  the  song: 
Dark  Greta's  voice  is  in  mine  ear, 
I  must  not  hear  them  long. 
i66 


ROKEBY 

From  every  loved  and  native  haunt 

The  native  heir  must  stray, 
And,  like  a  ghost  whom  sunbeams  daunt, 

Must  part  before  the  day. 

'Soon  from  the  halls  my  fathers  reared, 

Their  'scutcheons  may  descend, 
A  line  so  long  beloved  and  feared 

May  soon  obscurely  end. 
No  longer  here  Matilda's  tone 

Shall  bid  these  echoes  swell ; 
Yet  shall  they  hear  her  proudly  own 

The  cause  in  which  we  fell.' 

The  lady  paused,  and  then  again 
Resumed  the  lay  in  loftier  strain.  — 


XXIV 

'Let  our  halls  and  towers  decay, 
Be  our  name  and  line  forgot, 
Lands  and  manors  pass  away,  — 

We  but  share  our  monarch's  lot. 
If  no  more  our  annals  show 

Battles  won  and  banners  taken. 
Still  in  death,  defeat,  and  woe, 
Ours  be  loyalty  unshaken! 
167 


ROKEBY 

*  Constant  still  in  danger's  hour, 

Princes  owned  our  fathers'  aid ; 
Lands  and  honours,  wealth  and  power, 

Well  their  loyalty  repaid. 
Perish  wealth  and  power  and  pride, 

Mortal  boons  by  mortals  given ! 
But  let  constancy  abide, 

Constancy  's  the  gift  of  Heaven.' 

XXV 

While  thus  Matilda's  lay  was  heard, 
A  thousand  thoughts  in  Edmund  stirred. 
In  peasant  life  he  might  have  known 
As  fair  a  face,  as  sweet  a  tone; 
But  village  notes  could  ne'er  supply 
That  rich  and  varied  melody, 
And  ne'er  in  cottage  maid  was  seen 
The  easy  dignity  of  mien. 
Claiming  respect  yet  waiving  state, 
That  marks  the  daughters  of  the  great. 
Yet  not  perchance  had  these  alone 
His  scheme  of  purposed  guilt  o'erthrown; 
But  while  her  energy  of  mind 
Superior  rose  to  griefs  combined, 
Lending  its  kindling  to  her  eye, 
Giving  her  form  new  majesty,  — 
To  Edmund's  thought  Matilda  seemed 
i68 


ROKEBY 

The  very  object  he  had  dreamed 
When,  long  ere  guilt  his  soul  had  known, 
In  Winston  bowers  he  mused  alone, 
Taxing  his  fancy  to  combine 
The  face,  the  air,  the  voice  divine, 
Of  princess  fair  by  cruel  fate 
Reft  of  her  honours,  power,  and  state, 
Till  to  her  rightful  realm  restored 
By  destined  hero's  conquering  sword. 

XXVI 

'Such  was  my  vision!'  Edmund  thought; 

'And  have  I  then  the  ruin  wrought 
Of  such  a  maid  that  fancy  ne'er 
In  fairest  vision  formed  her  peer? 
Was  it  my  hand  that  could  unclose 
The  postern  to  her  ruthless  foes? 
Foes  lost  to  honour,  law,  and  faith, 
Their  kindest  mercy  sudden  death! 
Have  I  done  this?  I,  who  have  swore 
That  if  the  globe  such  angel  bore, 
I  would  have  traced  its  circle  broad 
To  kiss  the  ground  on  which  she  trode !  — 
And  now  —  O,  would  that  earth  would  rive 
And  close  upon  me  while  alive !  — 
Is  there  no  hope?  —  is  all  then  lost?  — 
Bertram's  already  on  his  post! 
169 


ROKEBY 

Even  now  beside  the  hall's  arched  door 
I  saw  his  shadow  cross  the  floor! 
He  was  to  wait  my  signal  strain  — 
A  little  respite  thus  we  gain : 
By  what  I  heard  the  menials  say, 
Young  Wycliffe's  troop  are  on  their  way 
Alarm  precipitates  the  crime! 
My  harp  must  wear  away  the  time.'  — 
And  then  in  accents  faint  and  low 
He  faltered  forth  a  tale  of  woe. 

XXVII 
BALLAD 

'"And  whither  would  you  lead  me  then?" 
Quoth  the  friar  of  orders  grey; 
And  the  ruffians  twain  replied  again, 
"By  a  dying  woman  to  pray."  — 

*"I  see,"  he  said,  "a  lovely  sight, 
A  sight  bodes  little  harm, 
A  lady  as  a  lily  bright 

With  an  infant  on  her  arm."  — 

*"Then  do  thine  office,  friar  grey. 
And  see  thou  shrive  her  free! 
Else  shall  the  sprite  that  parts  to-night 
Fling  all  its  guilt  on  thee. 
170 


ROKEBY 

'"Let  mass  be  said  and  trentals  read 
When  thou  'rt  to  convent  gone, 
And  bid  the  bell  of  St.  Benedict 
Toll  out  its  deepest  tone." 

'The  shrift  is  done,  the  friar  is  gone, 

Blindfolded  as  he  came  — 
Next  morning  all  in  Littlecot  Hall 
Were  weeping  for  their  dame. 

'Wild  Darrell  is  an  altered  man, 

The  village  crones  can  tell ; 
He  looks  pale  as  clay  and  strives  to  pray, 

If  he  hears  the  convent  bell. 

*If  prince  or  peer  cross  Durrell's  way, 

He  '11  beard  him  in  his  pride  — 
If  he  meet  a  friar  of  orders  grey, 
He  droops  and  turns  aside.*  * 


XXVIII 

'Harper!  methinks  thy  magic  lays,* 
Matilda  said,  'can  goblins  raise! 
Wellnigh  my  fancy  can  discern 
Near  the  dark  porch  a  visage  stern; 

»  See  Note  63. 


ROKEBY 

E'en  now  in  yonder  shadowy  nook 

I  see  it!  —  Redmond,  Wilfrid,  look!  — 

A  human  form  distinct  and  clear  — 

God,  for  thy  mercy!  —  It  draws  near!' 

She  saw  too  true.  Stride  after  stride, 

The  centre  of  that  chamber  wide 

Fierce  Bertram  gained ;  then  made  a  stand 

And,  proudly  waving  with  his  hand. 

Thundered  —  'Be  still,  upon  your  lives!  — 

He  bleeds  who  speaks,  he  dies  who  strives.* 

Behind  their  chief  the  robber  crew, 

Forth  from  the  darkened  portal  drew 

In  silence  —  save  that  echo  dread 

Returned  their  heavy  measured  tread. 

The  lamp's  uncertain  lustre  gave 

Their  arms  to  gleam,  their  plumes  to  wave; 

File  after  file  in  order  pass. 

Like  forms  on  Banquo's  mystic  glass. 

Then,  halting  at  their  leader's  sign. 

At  once  they  formed  and  curved  their  line, 

Hemming  within  its  crescent  drear 

Their  victims  like  a  herd  of  deer. 

Another  sign,  and  to  the  aim 

Levelled  at  once  their  muskets  came, 

As  waiting  but  their  chieftain's  word 

To  make  their  fatal  volley  heard. 


172 


ROKEBY 

XXIX 

Back  in  a  heap  the  menials  drew; 
Yet,  even  in  mortal  terror  true, 
Their  pale  and  startled  group  oppose 
Between  Matilda  and  the  foes. 

'O,  haste  thee,  Wilfrid!'  Redmond  cried; 

*  Undo  that  wicket  by  thy  side  I 
Bear  hence  Matilda  —  gain  the  wood  — 
The  pass  may  be  awhile  made  good  — 
Thy  band  ere  this  must  sure  be  nigh  — 

0  speak  not  —  dally  not  —  but  fly ! ' 
While  yet  the  crowd  their  motions  hide, 
Through  the  low  wicket  door  they  glide. 
Through  vaulted  passages  they  wind, 
In  Gothic  intricacy  twined; 

Wilfrid  half  led  and  half  he  bore 
Matilda  to  the  postern  door, 
And  safe  beneath  the  forest  tree, 
The  lady  stands  at  liberty. 
The  moonbeams,  the  fresh  gale's  caress, 
Renewed  suspended  consciousness ;  — 
'Where's  Redmond?'  eagerly  she  cries: 
'Thou  answer'st  not  —  he  dies!  he  dies! 
And  thou  hast  left  him  all  bereft 
Of  mortal  aid  —  with  murderers  left ! 

1  know  it  well  —  he  would  not  yield 

173 


ROKEBY 

His  sword  to  man  —  his  doom  is  sealed ! 
For  my  scorned  life,  which  thou  hast  bought 
At  price  of  his,  I  thank  thee  not.' 

XXX 

The  unjust  reproach,  the  angry  look, 
The  heart  of  Wilfrid  could  not  brook. 

*Lady,'  he  said,  'my  band  so  near, 
In  safety  thou  mayst  rest  thee  here. 
For  Redmond's  death  thou  shalt  not  mourn, 
If  mine  can  buy  his  safe  return.' 
He  turned  away  —  his  heart  throbbed  high, 
The  tear  was  bursting  from  his  eye; 
The  sense  of  her  injustice  pressed 
Upon  the  maid's  distracted  breast,  — 

*Stay,  Wilfrid,  stay!  all  aid  is  vain!' 
He  heard  but  turned  him  not  again! 
He  reaches  now  the  postern  door, 
Now  enters  —  and  is  seen  no  more. 

XXXI 

With  all  the  agony  that  e'er 
Was  gendered  'twixt  suspense  and  fear, 
She  watched  the  line  of  windows  tall 
Whose  Gothic  lattice  lights  the  hall, 
Distinguished  by  the  paly  red 
The  lamps  in  dim  reflection  shed, 
174 


ROKEBY 

While  all  beside  in  wan  moonlight 

Each  grated  casement  glimmered  white. 

No  sight  of  harm,  no  sound  of  ill, 

It  is  a  deep  and  midnight  still. 

Who  looked  upon  the  scene  had  guessed 

All  in  the  castle  were  at  rest  — 

When  sudden  on  the  windows  shone 

A  lightning  flash  just  seen  and  gone! 

A  shot  is  heard  —  again  the  flame 

Flashed  thick  and  fast  —  a  volley  came ! 

Then  echoed  wildly  from  within 

Of  shout  and  scream  the  mingled  din, 

And  weapon-clash  and  maddening  cry, 

Of  those  who  kill  and  those  who  die !  — 

As  filled  the  hall  with  sulphurous  smoke, 

More  red,  more  dark,  the  death-flash  broke, 

And  forms  were  on  the  lattice  cast 

That  struck  or  struggled  as  they  past. 

XXXII 

What  sounds  upon  the  midnight  wind 
Approach  so  rapidly  behind? 
It  is,  it  is,  the  tramp  of  steeds, 
Matilda  hears  the  sound,  she  speeds. 
Seizes  upon  the  leader's  rein  — 
*0,  haste  to  aid  ere  aid  be  vain! 
Fly  to  the  postern  —  gain  the  hall ! ' 
175 


ROKEBY 

From  saddle  spring  the  troopers  all ; 

Their  gallant  steeds  at  liberty 

Run  wild  along  the  moonlight  lea. 

But  ere  they  burst  upon  the  scene 

Full  stubborn  had  the  conflict  been. 

When  Bertram  marked  Matilda's  flight, 

It  gave  the  signal  for  the  fight; 

And  Rokeby's  veterans,  seamed  with  scars 

Of  Scotland's  and  of  Erin's  wars, 

Their  momentary  panic  o'er, 

Stood  to  the  arms  which  then  they  bore  — 

For  they  were  weaponed  and  prepared 

Their  mistress  on  her  way  to  guard. 

Then  cheered  them  to  the  fight  O'Neale, 

Then  pealed  the  shot,  and  clashed  the  steel; 

The  war-smoke  soon  with  sable  breath 

Darkened  the  scene  of  blood  and  death, 

While  on  the  few  defenders  close 

The  bandits  with  redoubled  blows, 

And,  twice  driven  back,  yet  fierce  and  fell 

Renew  the  charge  with  frantic  yell. 

XXXIII 

Wilfrid  has  fallen  —  but  o'er  him  stood 
Young  Redmond  soiled  with  smoke  and  blood, 
Cheering  his  mates  with  heart  and  hand 
Still  to  make  good  their  desperate  stand : 
176 


ROKEBY 

*Up,  comrades,  up!   In  Rokeby  halls 
Ne'er  be  it  said  our  courage  falls. 
What!  faint  ye  for  their  savage  cry, 
Or  do  the  smoke-wreaths  daunt  your  eye? 
These  rafters  have  returned  a  shout 
As  loud  at  Rokeby's  wassail  rout, 
As  thick  a  smoke  these  hearths  have  given 
At  Hallow-tide  or  Christmas-even.^ 
Stand  to  it  yet!  renew  the  fight 
For  Rokeby's  and  Matilda's  right! 
These  slaves!  they  dare  not  hand  to  hand 
Bide  buffet  from  a  true  man's  brand.' 
Impetuous,  active,  fierce,  and  young, 
Upon  the  advancing  foes  he  sprung. 
Woe  to  the  wretch  at  whom  is  bent 
His  brandished  falchion's  sheer  descent! 
Backward  they  scattered  as  he  came, 
Like  wolves  before  the  levin  flame. 
When,  'mid  their  howling  conclave  driven, 
Hath  glanced  the  thunderbolt  of  heaven. 
Bertram  rushed  on  —  But  Harpool  clasped 
His  knees,  although  in  death  he  gasped. 
His  falling  corpse  before  him  flung. 
And  round  the  trammelled  ruffian  clung. 
Just  then  the  soldiers  filled  the  dome. 
And  shouting  charged  the  felons  home 

I  See  Note  64. 
49  177 


ROKEBY 

So  fiercely  that  in  panic  dread 
They  broke,  they  yielded,  fell,  or  fled, 
Bertram's  stern  voice  they  heed  no  more, 
Though  heard  above  the  battle's  roar; 
While,  trampling  down  the  dying  man, 
He  strove  with  volleyed  threat  and  ban 
In  scorn  of  odds,  in  fate's  despite, 
To  rally  up  the  desperate  fight. 

XXXIV 

Soon  murkier  clouds  the  hall  enfold 
Than  e'er  from  battle-thunders  rolled, 
So  dense  the  combatants  scarce  know 
To  aim  or  to  avoid  the  blow. 
Smothering  and  blindfold  grows  the  fight  — 
But  soon  shall  dawn  a  dismal  light! 
'Mid  cries  and  clashing  arms  there  came 
The  hollow  sound  of  rushing  flame; 
New  horrors  on  the  tumult  dire 
Arise  —  the  castle  is  on  fire ! 
Doubtful  if  chance  had  cast  the  brand 
Or  frantic  Bertram's  desperate  hand, 
Matilda  saw  —  for  frequent  broke 
From  the  dim  casements  gusts  of  smoke, 
Yon  tower,  which  late  so  clear  defined 
On  the  fair  hemisphere  reclined 
That,  pencilled  on  its  azure  pure, 
178 


ROKEBY 

The  eye  could  count  each  embrasure, 
Now,  swathed  within  the  sweeping  cloud, 
Seems  giant-spectre  in  his  shroud ; 
Till,  from  each  loop-hole  flashing  light, 
A  spout  of  fire  shines  ruddy  bright, 
And,  gathering  to  united  glare. 
Streams  high  into  the  midnight  air; 
A  dismal  beacon,  far  and  wide 
That  wakened  Greta's  slumbering  side. 
Soon  all  beneath,  through  gallery  long 
And  pendent  arch,  the  fire  flashed  strong, 
Snatching  whatever  could  maintain, 
Raise,  or  extend  its  furious  reign ; 
Startling  with  closer  cause  of  dread 
The  females  who  the  conflict  fled, 
And  now  rushed  forth  upon  the  plain, 
Filling  the  air  with  clamours  vain. 

XXXV 

But  ceased  not  yet  the  hall  within 
The  shriek,  the  shout,  the  carnage-din, 
Till  bursting  lattices  give  proof 
The  flames  have  caught  the  raftered  roof 
What!  wait  they  till  its  beams  amain 
Crash  on  the  slayers  and  the  slain? 
The  alarm  is  caught  —  the  drawbridge  falls. 
The  warriors  hurry  from  the  walls, 
179 


ROKEBY 

But  by  the  conflagration's  light 
Upon  the  lawn  renew  the  fight. 
Each  straggling  felon  down  was  hewed, 
Not  one  could  gain  the  sheltering  wood ; 
But  forth  the  affrighted  harper  sprung, 
And  to  Matilda's  robe  he  clung. 
Her  shriek,  entreaty,  and  command 
Stopped  the  pursuer's  lifted  hand. 
Denzil  and  he  alive  were  ta'en; 
The  rest  save  Bertram  all  are  slain. 

XXXVI 

And  where  is  Bertram?  —  Soaring  high. 
The  general  flame  ascends  the  sky; 
In  gathered  group  the  soldiers  gaze 
Upon  the  broad  and  roaring  blaze. 
When,  like  infernal  demon,  sent 
Red  from  his  penal  element. 
To  plague  and  to  pollute  the  air. 
His  face  all  gore,  on  fire  his  hair, 
Forth  from  the  central  mass  of  smoke 
The  giant  form  of  Bertram  broke! 
His  brandished  sword  on  high  he  rears, 
Then  plunged  among  opposing  spears; 
Round  his  left  arm  his  mantle  trussed. 
Received  and  foiled  three  lances'  thrust; 
Nor  these  his  headlong  course  withstood, 
i8o 


ROKEBY 

Like  reeds  he  snapped  the  tough  ashwood. 
In  vain  his  foes  around  him  clung; 
With  matchless  force  aside  he  flung 
Their  boldest,  —  as  the  bull  at  bay 
Tosses  the  ban-dogs  from  his  way, 
Through  forty  foes  his  path  he  made, 
And  safely  gained  the  forest  glade. 

XXXVII 

Scarce  was  this  final  conflict  o'er 
When  from  the  postern  Redmond  bore 
Wilfrid,  who,  as  of  life  bereft. 
Had  in  the  fatal  hall  been  left, 
Deserted  there  by  all  his  train ; 
But  Redmond  saw  and  turned  again. 
Beneath  an  oak  he  laid  him  down 
That  in  the  blaze  gleamed  ruddy  brown, 
And  then  his  mantle's  clasp  undid; 
Matilda  held  his  drooping  head, 
Till,  given  to  breathe  the  freer  air, 
Returning  life  repaid  their  care. 
He  gazed  on  them  with  heavy  sigh,  — 
*  I  could  have  wished  even  thus  to  die ! ' 
No  more  he  said,  —  for  now  with  speed 
Each  trooper  had  regained  his  steed ; 
The  ready  palfreys  stood  arrayed 
For  Redmond  and  for  Rokeby's  maid ; 
i8i 


ROKEBY 

Two  Wilfrid  on  his  horse  sustain, 
One  leads  his  charger  by  the  rein. 
But  oft  Matilda  looked  behind, 
As  up  the  vale  of  Tees  they  wind, 
Where  far  the  mansion  of  her  sires 
Beaconed  the  dale  with  midnight  fires. 
In  gloomy  arch  above  them  spread, 
The  clouded  heaven  lowered  bloody  red; 
Beneath  in  sombre  light  the  flood 
Appeared  to  roll  in  waves  of  blood. 
Then  one  by  one  was  heard  to  fall 
The  tower,  the  donjon-keep,  the  hall. 
Each  rushing  down  with  thunder  sound 
A  space  the  conflagration  drowned ; 
Till  gathering  strength  again  it  rose, 
Announced  its  triumph  in  its  close, 
Shook  wide  its  light  the  landscape  o'er, 
Then  sunk  —  and  Rokeby  was  no  more! 


CANTO  SIXTH 

I 

The  summer  sun,  whose  early  power 
Was  wont  to  gild  Matilda's  bower 
And  rouse  her  with  his  matin  ray 
Her  duteous  orisons  to  pay, 
That  morning  sun  has  three  times  seen 
The  flowers  unfold  on  Rokeby  green, 
But  sees  no  more  the  slumbers  fly 
From  fair  Matilda's  hazel  eye ; 
That  morning  sun  has  three  times  broke 
On  Rokeby's  glades  of  elm  and  oak, 
But,  rising  from  their  sylvan  screen, 
Marks  no  grey  turrets  glance  between. 
A  shapeless  mass  lie  keep  and  tower. 
That,  hissing  to  the  morning  shower. 
Can  but  with  smouldering  vapour  pay 
The  early  smile  of  summer  day. 
The  peasant,  to  his  labour  bound. 
Pauses  to  view  the  blackened  mound. 
Striving  amid  the  ruined  space 
Each  well-remembered  spot  to  trace. 
That  length  of  frail  and  fire-scorched  wall 
Once  screened  the  hospitable  hall; 
183 


ROKEBY 

When  yonder  broken  arch  was  whole, 
'T  was  there  was  dealt  the  weekly  dole; 
And  where  yon  tottering  columns  nod 
The  chapel  sent  the  hymn  to  God. 
So  flits  the  world's  uncertain  span! 
Nor  zeal  for  God  nor  love  for  man 
Gives  mortal  monuments  a  date 
Beyond  the  power  of  Time  and  Fate. 
The  towers  must  share  the  builder's  doom; 
Ruin  is  theirs,  and  his  a  tomb: 
But  better  boon  benignant  Heaven 
To  Faith  and  Charity  has  given. 
And  bids  the  Christian  hope  sublime 
Transcend  the  bounds  of  Fate  and  Time. 

II 

Now  the  third  night  of  summer  came 
Since  that  which  witnessed  Rokeby's  flame. 
On  Brignall  cliff's  and  Scargill  brake 
The  owlet's  homilies  awake, 
The  bittern  screamed  from  rush  and  flag, 
The  raven  slumbered  on  his  crag, 
Forth  from  his  den  the  otter  drew,  — 
Grayling  and  trout  their  tyrant  knew, 
As  between  reed  and  sedge  he  peers. 
With  fierce  round  snout  and  sharpened  ears, 
Or  prowling  by  the  moonbeam  cool 
184 


ROKEBY 

Watches  the  stream  or  swims  the  pool ;  - 
Perched  on  his  wonted  eyrie  high, 
Sleep  sealed  the  tercelet's  v/earied  eye, 
That  all  the  day  had  watched  so  well 
The  cushat  dart  across  the  dell. 
In  dubious  beam  reflected  shone 
That  lofty  cliff  of  pale  grey  stone 
Beside  whose  base  the  secret  cave 
To  rapine  late  a  refuge  gave. 
The  crag's  wild  crest  of  copse  and  yew 
On  Greta's  breast  dark  shadows  threw. 
Shadows  that  met  or  shunned  the  sight 
With  every  change  of  fitful  light, 
As  hope  and  fear  alternate  chase 
Our  course  through  life's  uncertain  race, 

III 

Gliding  by  crag  and  copsewood  green, 
A  solitary  form  was  seen 
To  trace  with  stealthy  pace  the  wold. 
Like  fox  that  seeks  the  midnight  fold, 
And  pauses  oft,  and  cowers  dismayed 
At  every  breath  that  stirs  the  shade. 
He  passes  now  the  ivy  bush,  — 
The  owl  has  seen  him  and  is  hush; 
He  passes  now  the  doddered  oak,  — 
He  heard  the  startled  raven  croak ; 
185 


ROKEBY 

Lower  and  lower  he  descends, 
Rustle  the  leaves,  the  brushwood  bends; 
The  otter  hears  him  tread  the  shore, 
And  dives  and  is  beheld  no  more; 
And  by  the  cliff  of  pale  grey  stone 
The  midnight  wanderer  stands  alone. 
Methinks  that  by  the  moon  we  trace 
A  well-remembered  form  and  face! 
That  stripling  shape,  that  cheek  so  pale, 
Combine  to  tell  a  rueful  tale, 
Of  powers  misused,  of  passion's  force, 
Of  guilt,  of  grief,  and  of  remorse! 
'T  is  Edmund's  eye  at  every  sound 
That  flings  that  guilty  glance  around ; 
'T  is  Edmund's  trembling  haste  divides 
The  brushwood  that  the  cavern  hides; 
And  when  its  narrow  porch  lies  bare 
'T  is  Edmund's  form  that  enters  there. 

IV 

His  flint  and  steel  have  sparkled  bright, 
A  lamp  hath  lent  the  cavern  light. 
Fearful  and  quick  his  eye  surveys 
Each  angle  of  the  gloomy  maze. 
Since  last  he  left  that  stern  abode, 
It  seemed  as  none  its  floor  had  trode; 
Untouched  appeared  the  various  spoil, 
iS6 


ROKEBY 

The  purchase  of  his  comrades'  toil ; 
Masks  and  disguises  grimed  with  mud, 
Arms  broken  and  defiled  with  blood, 
And  all  the  nameless  tools  that  aid 
Night-felons  in  their  lawless  trade, 
Upon  the  gloomy  walls  were  hung 
Or  lay  in  nooks  obscurely  flung. 
Still  on  the  sordid  board  appear 
The  relics  of  the  noontide  cheer: 
Flagons  and  emptied  flasks  were  there, 
And  bench  o'erthrown  and  shattered  chair; 
And  all  around  the  semblance  showed, 
As  when  the  final  revel  glowed, 
When  the  red  sun  was  setting  fast 
And  parting  pledge  Guy  Denzil  past. 
*To  Rokeby  treasure-vaults!'  they  quaffed. 
And  shouted  loud  and  wildly  laughed, 
Poured  maddening  from  the  rocky  door, 
And  parted  —  to  return  no  more ! 
They  found  in  Rokeby  vaults  their  doom,  — 
A  bloody  death,  a  burning  tomb! 

V 

There  his  own  peasant  dress  he  spies, 
Doffed  to  assume  that  quaint  disguise. 
And  shuddering  thought  upon  his  glee 
When  pranked  in  garb  of  minstrelsy. 
187 


ROKEBY 

*0,  be  the  fatal  art  accurst,* 
He  cried,  '  that  moved  my  folly  first, 
Till,  bribed  by  bandits'  base  applause, 
I  burst  through  God's  and  Nature's  laws! 
Three  summer  days  are  scantly  past 
Since  I  have  trod  this  cavern  last, 
A  thoughtless  wretch,  and  prompt  to  err  — 
But  O,  as  yet  no  murderer! 
Even  now  I  list  my  comrades'  cheer, 
That  general  laugh  is  in  mine  ear 
Which  raised  my  pulse  and  steeled  my  heart, 
As  I  rehearsed  my  treacherous  part  — 
And  would  that  all  since  then  could  seem 
The  phantom  of  a  fever's  dream ! 
But  fatal  memory  notes  too  well 
The  horrors  of  the  dying  yell 
From  my  despairing  mates  that  broke 
When  flashed  the  fire  and  rolled  the  smoke, 
When  the  avengers  shouting  came 
And  hemmed  us  'twixt  the  sword  and  flame! 
My  frantic  flight  —  the  lifted  brand  — 
That  angel's  interposing  hand!  — 
If  for  my  life  from  slaughter  freed 
I  yet  could  pay  some  grateful  meed! 
Perchance  this  object  of  my  quest 
May  aid'  —  he  turned  nor  spoke  the  rest. 


ROKEBY 

VI 

Due  northward  from  the  rugged  hearth 
With  paces  five  he  meets  the  earth, 
Then  toiled  with  mattock  to  explore 
The  entrails  of  the  cavern  floor, 
Nor  paused  till  deep  beneath  the  ground 
His  search  a  small  steel  casket  found. 
Just  as  he  stooped  to  loose  its  hasp 
His  shoulder  felt  a  giant  grasp; 
He  started  and  looked  up  aghast, 
Then  shrieked !  —  'T  was  Bertram  held  him  fast. 
*  Fear  not ! '  he  said ;  but  who  could  hear 
That  deep  stern  voice  and  cease  to  fear? 
'Fear  not!  —  By  heaven,  he  shakes  as  much 
As  partridge  in  the  falcon's  clutch : ' 
He  raised  him  and  unloosed  his  hold, 
While  from  the  opening  casket  rolled 
A  chain  and  reliquaire  of  gold. 
Bertram  beheld  it  with  surprise, 
Gazed  on  its  fashion  and  device. 
Then,  cheering  Edmund  as  he  could. 
Somewhat  he  smoothed  his  rugged  mood, 
For  still  the  youth's  half-lifted  eye 
Quivered  with  terror's  agony, 
And  sidelong  glanced  as  to  explore 
In  meditated  flight  the  door. 
189 


ROKEBY 

*Sit,'  Bertram  said,  'from  danger  free: 
Thou  canst  not  and  thou  shalt  not  flee. 
Chance  brings  me  hither ;  hill  and  plain 
I  've  sought  for  refuge-place  in  vain. 
And  tell  me  now,  thou  aguish  boy, 
What  makest  thou  here?  what  means  this  toy? 
Denzil  and  thou,  I  marked,  were  ta'en; 
What  lucky  chance  unbound  your  chain? 
I  deemed,  long  since  on  Baliol's  tower, 
Your  heads  were  warped  with  sun  and  shower. 
Tell  me  the  whole  —  and  mark !  nought  e'er 
.  Chafes  me  like  falsehood  or  like  fear.' 
Gathering  his  courage  to  his  aid 
But  trembling  still,  the  youth  obeyed. 

VII 

*  Denzil  and  I  two  nights  passed  o'er 

In  fetters  on  the  dungeon  floor. 

A  guest  the  third  sad  morrow  brought; 

Our  hold,  dark  Oswald  Wycliffe  sought, 

And  eyed  my  comrade  long  askance 

With  fixed  and  penetrating  glance. 
"Guy  Denzil  art  thou  called?"  —  "The  same." 
"At  Court  who  served  wild  Buckinghame; 

Thence  banished,  won  a  keeper's  place, 

So  Villiers  willed,  in  Marwood  Chase; 

That  lost  —  I  need  not  tell  thee  why  — 
190 


ROKEBY 

Thou  madest  thy  wit  thy  wants  supply, 
Then  fought  for  Rokeby :  —  have  I  guessed 
My  prisoner  right?"  —  "At  thy  behest."  — 
He  paused  awhile,  and  then  went  on 
With  low  and  confidential  tone ;  — 
Me,  as  I  judge,  not  then  he  saw 
Close  nestled  in  my  couch  of  straw.  — 
"List  to  me,  Guy.  Thou  know'st  the  great 
Have  frequent  need  of  what  they  hate; 
Hence,  in  their  favour  oft  we  see 
Unscrupled,  useful  men  like  thee. 
Were  I  disposed  to  bid  thee  live, 
What  pledge  of  faith  hast  thou  to  give?" 

VIII 

*The  ready  fiend  who  never  yet 
Hath  failed  to  sharpen  Denzil's  wit 
Prompted  his  lie  —  "His  only  child 
Should  rest  his  pledge."  —  The  baron  smiled. 
And  turned  to  me  —  "Thou  art  his  son?" 
I  bowed  —  our  fetters  were  undone, 
And  we  were  led  to  hear  apart 
A  dreadful  lesson  of  his  art. 
Wilfrid,  he  said,  his  heir  and  son, 
Had  fair  Matilda's  favour  won; 
And  long  since  had  their  union  been 
But  for  her  father's  bigot  spleen, 
191 


ROKEBY 

Whose  brute  and  blindfold  party-rage 
Would,  force  perforce,  her  hand  engage 
To  a  base  kern  of  Irish  earth. 
Unknown  his  lineage  and  his  birth, 
Save  that  a  dying  ruffian  bore 
The  infant  brat  to  Rokeby  door. 
Gentle  restraint,  he  said,  would  lead 
Old  Rokeby  to  enlarge  his  creed ; 
But  fair  occasion  he  must  find 
For  such  restraint  well  meant  and  kind. 
The  knight  being  rendered  to  his  charge 
But  as  a  prisoner  at  large. 

IX 

*  He  schooled  us  in  a  well-forged  tale 
Of  scheme  the  castle-walls  to  scale, 
To  which  was  leagued  each  Cavalier 
That  dwells  upon  the  Tyne  and  Wear, 
That  Rokeby,  his  parole  forgot, 
Had  dealt  with  us  to  aid  the  plot. 
Such  was  the  charge  which  Denzil's  zeal 
Of  hate  to  Rokeby  and  O'Neale 
Proffered  as  witness  to  make  good, 
Even  though  the  forfeit  were  their  blood. 
I  scrupled  until  o'er  and  o'er 
His  prisoners'  safety  Wycliffe  swore; 
And  then  —  alas!  what  needs  there  more? 
192 


ROKEBY 

I  knew  I  should  not  live  to  say 
The  proffer  I  refused  that  day; 
Ashamed  to  live,  yet  loth  to  die, 
I  soiled  me  with  their  infamy!' 
'Poor  youth!'  said  Bertram,  'wavering  still, 
Unfit  alike  for  good  or  ill ! 
But  what  fell  next?'  —  'Soon  as  at  large 
Was  scrolled  and  signed  our  fatal  charge, 
There  never  yet  on  tragic  stage 
Was  seen  so  well  a  painted  rage 
As  Oswald's  showed!  With  loud  alarm 
He  called  his  garrison  to  arm ; 
From  tower  to  tower,  from  post  to  post. 
He  hurried  as  if  all  were  lost ; 
Consigned  to  dungeon  and  to  chain 
The  good  old  knight  and  all  his  train; 
Warned  each  suspected  Cavalier 
Within  his  limits  to  appear 
To-morrow  at  the  hour  of  noon 
In  the  high  church  of  Eglistone.'  — 


X 

*0f  Eglistone!  —  Even  now  I  past,* 
Said  Bertram,  'as  the  night  closed  fast; 
Torches  and  cressets  gleamed  around, 
I  heard  the  saw  and  hammer  sound, 
49  193 


ROKEBY 

And  I  could  mark  they  toiled  to  raise 

A  scaffold,  hung  with  sable  baize, 

Which  the  grim  headsman's  scene  displayed, 

Block,  axe,  and  sawdust  ready  laid. 

Some  evil  deed  will  there  be  done 

Unless  Matilda  wed  his  son;  — 

She  loves  him  not  —  't  is  shrewdly  guessed 

That  Redmond  rules  the  damsel's  breast. 

This  is  a  turn  of  Oswald's  skill ; 

But  I  may  meet,  and  foil  him  still !  — 

How  camest  thou  to  thy  freedom?'  —  'There 

Lies  mystery  more  dark  and  rare. 

In  midst  of  Wycliffe's  well-feigned  rage, 

A  scroll  was  offered  by  a  page, 

Who  told  a  muffled  horseman  late 

Had  left  it  at  the  castle-gate. 

He  broke  the  seal  —  his  cheek  showed  change. 

Sudden,  portentous,  wild,  and  strange; 

The  mimic  passion  of  his  eye 

Was  turned  to  actual  agony; 

His  hand  like  summer  sapling  shook, 

Terror  and  guilt  were  in  his  look. 

Denzil  he  judged  in  time  of  need 

Fit  counsellor  for  evil  deed ; 

And  thus  apart  his  counsel  broke, 

While  with  a  ghastly  smile  he  spoke:  — 


194 


ROKEBY 

XI 

*"As  in  the  pageants  of  the  stage 
The  dead  awake  in  this  wild  age, 
Mortham  —  whom  all  men  deemed  decreed 
In  his  own  deadly  snare  to  bleed, 
Slain  by  a  bravo  whom  o'er  sea 
He  trained  to  aid  in  murdering  me,  — 
Mortham  has  'scaped !  The  coward  shot 
The  steed,  but  harmed  the  rider  not.'" 
Here  with  an  execration  fell 
Bertram  leaped  up  and  paced  the  cell :  — 

'Thine  own  grey  head  or  bosom  dark,' 
He  muttered,  'may  be  surer  mark!' 
Then  sat  and  signed  to  Edmund,  pale 
With  terror,  to  resume  his  tale. 

'Wycliffe  went  on:  —  "Mark  with  what  flights 
Of  'wildered  reverie  he  writes :  — 

THE   LETTER 

'"Ruler  of  Mortham's  destiny! 
Though  dead,  thy  victim  lives  to  thee. 
Once  had  he  all  that  binds  to  life, 
A  lovely  child,  a  lovelier  wife; 
Wealth,  fame,  and  friendship  were  his  own  — 
Thou  gavest  the  word  and  they  are  flown. 
Mark  how  he  pays  thee:  to  thy  hand 
195 


ROKEBY 

He  yields  his  honours  and  his  land, 
One  boon  premised;  —  restore  his  child! 
And,  from  his  native  land  exiled, 
Mortham  no  more  returns  to  claim 
His  lands,  his  honours,  or  his  name; 
Refuse  him  this  and  from  the  slain 
Thou  shalt  see  Mortham  rise  again."  — 

XII 

'This  billet  while  the  baron  read, 
His  faltering  accents  showed  his  dread ; 
He  pressed  his  forehead  with  his  palm, 
Then  took  a  scornful  tone  and  calm; 

"Wild  as  the  winds,  as  billows  wild! 
What  wot  I  of  his  spouse  or  child? 
Hither  he  brought  a  joyous  dame, 
Unknown  her  lineage  or  her  name: 
Her  in  some  frantic  fit  he  slew; 
The  nurse  and  child  in  fear  withdrew. 
Heaven  be  my  witness,  wist  I  where 
To  find  this  youth,  my  kinsman's  heir, 
Unguerdoned  I  would  give  with  joy 
The  father's  arms  to  fold  his  boy, 
And  Mortham's  lands  and  towers  resign 
To  the  just  heirs  of  Mortham's  line." 
Thou  know'st  that  scarcely  e'en  his  fear 
Suppresses  Denzil's  cynic  sneer;  — 
196 


ROKEBY 

"Then  happy  is  thy  vassal's  part," 
He  said,  "to  ease  his  patron's  heart! 
In  thine  own  jailer's  watchful  care 
Lies  Mortham's  just  and  rightful  heir; 
Thy  generous  wish  is  fully  won,  — 
Redmond  O'Neale  is  Mortham's  son."  — 

XIII 

*  Up  starting  with  a  frenzied  look, 
His  clenched  hand  the  baron  shook: 
"Is  Hell  at  work?  or  dost  thou  rave, 
Or  darest  thou  palter  with  me,  slave! 
Perchance  thou  wot'st  not,  Barnard's  towers 
Have  racks  of  strange  and  ghastly  powers." 
Denzil,  who  well  his  safety  knew, 
Firmly  rejoined,  "I  tell  thee  true. 
Thy  racks  could  give  thee  but  to  know 
The  proofs  which  I,  untortured,  show. 
It  chanced  upon  a  winter  night 
When  early  snow  made  Stanmore  white, 
That  very  night  when  first  of  all 
Redmond  O'Neale  saw  Rokeby  Hall, 
It  was  my  goodly  lot  to  gain 
A  reliquary  and  a  chain, 
Twisted  and  chased  of  massive  gold. 
Demand  not  how  the  prize  I  hold  1 
It  was  not  given  nor  lent  nor  sold. 
197 


ROKEBY 

Gilt  tablets  to  the  chain  were  hung 

With  letters  in  the  Irish  tongue. 

I  hid  my  spoil,  for  there  was  need 

That  I  should  leave  the  land  with  speed, 

Nor  then  I  deemed  it  safe  to  bear 

On  mine  own  person  gems  so  rare. 

Small  heed  I  of  the  tablets  took, 

But  since  have  spelled  them  by  the  book. 

When  some  sojourn  in  Erin's  land 

Of  their  wild  speech  had  given  command. 

But  darkling  was  the  sense;  the  phrase 

And  language  those  of  other  days. 

Involved  of  purpose,  as  to  foil 

An  interloper's  prying  toil. 

The  words,  but  not  the  sense,  I  knew, 

Till  fortune  gave  the  guiding  clue. 

XIV 

'"Three  days  since,  was  that  clue  revealed 
In  Thorsgill  as  I  lay  concealed. 
And  heard  at  full  when  Rokeby's  maid 
Her  uncle's  history  displayed ; 
And  now  I  can  interpret  well 
Each  syllable  the  tablets  tell. 
Mark,  then:  fair  Edith  was  the  joy 
Of  old  O'Neale  of  Clandeboy; 
But  from  her  sire  and  country  fled 
198 


ROKEBY 

In  secret  Mortham's  lord  to  wed. 
O'Neale,  his  first  resentment  o'er, 
Despatched  his  son  to  Greta's  shore, 
Enjoining  he  should  make  him  known  — 
Until  his  farther  will  were  shown  — 
To  Edith,  but  to  her  alone. 
What  of  their  ill-starred  meeting  fell 
Lord  Wycliffe  knows,  and  none  so  well. 

XV 

'"O'Neale  it  was  who  in  despair 
Robbed  Mortham  of  his  infant  heir; 
He  bred  him  in  their  nurture  wild, 
And  called  him  murdered  Connel's  child. 
Soon  died  the  nurse ;  the  clan  believed 
What  from  their  chieftain  they  received. 
His  purpose  was  that  ne'er  again 
The  boy  should  cross  the  Irish  main. 
But,  like  his  mountain  sires,  enjoy 
The  woods  and  wastes  of  Clandeboy. 
Then  on  the  land  wild  troubles  came, 
And  stronger  chieftains  urged  a  claim, 
And  wrested  from  the  old  man's  hands 
His  native  towers,  his  father's  lands. 
Unable  then  amid  the  strife 
To  guard  young  Redmond's  rights  or  life. 
Late  and  reluctant  he  restores 
199 


ROKEBY 

The  infant  to  his  native  shores, 
With  goodly  gifts  and  letters  stored, 
With  many  a  deep  conjuring  word, 
To  Mortham  and  to  Rokeby's  lord. 
Nought  knew  the  clod  of  Irish  earth, 
Who  was  the  guide,  of  Redmond's  birth, 
But  deemed  his  chief's  commands  were  laid 
On  both,  by  both  to  be  obeyed. 
How  he  was  wounded  by  the  way 
I  need  not,  and  I  list  not  say."  — 

XVI 

*"A  wondrous  tale!  and,  grant  it  true. 
What,"  Wycliffe  answered,  "might  I  do? 
Heaven  knows,  as  willingly  as  now 
I  raise  the  bonnet  from  my  brow. 
Would  I  my  kinsman's  manors  fair 
Restore  to  Mortham  or  his  heir ; 
But  Mortham  is  distraught  —  O'Neale 
Has  drawn  for  tyranny  his  steel, 
Malignant  to  our  rightful  cause 
And  trained  in  Rome's  delusive  laws. 
Hark  thee  apart!"  They  whispered  long, 
Till  Denzil's  voice  grew  bold  and  strong: 
"My  proofs!  I  never  will,"  he  said, 
"Show  mortal  man  where  they  are  laid. 
Nor  hope  discovery  to  foreclose 
200 


ROKEBY 

By  giving  me  to  feed  the  crows ; 
For  I  have  mates  at  large  who  know 
Where  I  am  wont  such  toys  to  stow. 
Free  me  from  peril  and  from  band, 
These  tablets  are  at  thy  command ; 
Nor  were  it  hard  to  form  some  train, 
To  wile  old  Mortham  o'er  the  main. 
Then,  lunatic's  nor  papist's  hand 
Should  wrest  from  thine  the  goodly  land." 
"I  like  thy  wit,"  said  Wycliffe,  "well; 
But  here  in  hostage  shalt  thou  dwell. 
Thy  son,  unless  my  purpose  err, 
May  prove  the  trustier  messenger. 
A  scroll  to  Mortham  shall  he  bear 
From  me,  and  fetch  these  tokens  rare. 
Gold  shalt  thou  have,  and  that  good  store, 
And  freedom,  his  commission  o'er; 
But  if  his  faith  should  chance  to  fail. 
The  gibbet  frees  thee  from  the  jail." 

XVII 

*  Meshed  in  the  net  himself  had  twined. 
What  subterfuge  could  Denzil  find? 
He  told  me  with  reluctant  sigh 
That  hidden  here  the  tokens  lie. 
Conjured  my  swift  return  and  aid. 
By  all  he  scoffed  and  disobeyed, 

201 


-2  c-1  <3'  /O 


ROKEBY 

And  looked  as  if  the  noose  were  tied 
And  I  the  priest  who  left  his  side. 
This  scroll  for  Mortham  Wycliffe  gave, 
Whom  I  must  seek  by  Greta's  wave, 
Or  in  the  hut  where  chief  he  hides, 
Where  Thorsgill's  forester  resides.  — 
Thence  chanced  it,  wandering  in  the  glade, 
That  he  descried  our  ambuscade.  — 
I  was  dismissed  as  evening  fell. 
And  reached  but  now  this  rocky  cell.* 

'Give  Oswald's  letter.'  —  Bertram  read, 
And  tore  it  fiercely  shred  by  shred :  — 

*A11  lies  and  villainy!  to  blind 
His  noble  kinsman's  generous  mind, 
And  train  him  on  from  day  to  day, 
Till  he  can  take  his  life  away.  — 
And  now,  declare  thy  purpose,  youth, 
Nor  dare  to  answer,  save  the  truth ; 
If  aught  I  mark  of  Denzil's  art, 
I  '11  tear  the  secret  from  thy  heart !  *  — 

XVIII 

'  It  needs  not.   I  renounce,'  he  said, 

*  My  tutor  and  his  deadly  trade. 
Fixed  was  my  purpose  to  declare 
To  Mortham,  Redmond  is  his  heir; 
To  tell  him  in  what  risk  he  stands, 
202 


ROKEBY 

And  yield  these  tokens  to  his  hands. 

Fixed  was  my  purpose  to  atone, 

Far  as  I  may,  the  evil  done; 

And  fixed  it  rests  —  if  I  survive 

This  night,  and  leave  this  cave  alive.'  — 
'And  Denzil?'  —  'Let  them  ply  the  rack, 

Even  till  his  joints  and  sinews  crack! 

If  Oswald  tear  him  limb  from  limb, 

What  ruth  can  Denzil  claim  from  him 

Whose  thoughtless  youth  he  led  astray 

And  damned  to  this  unhallowed  way? 

He  schooled  me,  faith  and  vows  were  vain; 

Now  let  my  master  reap  his  gain.'  — 
'True,'  answered  Bertram,  "t  is  his  meed; 

There 's  retribution  in  the  deed. 

But  thou  —  thou  art  not  for  our  course, 

Hast  fear,  hast  pity,  hast  remorse; 

And  he  with  us  the  gale  who  braves 

Must  heave  such  cargo  to  the  waves. 

Or  lag  with  overloaded  prore 

While  barks  unburdened  reach  the  shore.* 

XIX 

He  paused  and,  stretching  him  at  length, 
Seemed  to  repose  his  bulky  strength. 
Communing  with  his  secret  mind. 
As  half  he  sat  and  half  reclined, 
203 


ROKEBY 

One  ample  hand  his  forehead  pressed, 
And  one  was  dropped  across  his  breast. 
The  shaggy  eyebrows  deeper  came 
Above  his  eyes  of  swarthy  flame ; 
His  lip  of  pride  awhile  forebore 
The  haughty  curve  till  then  it  wore; 
The  unaltered  fierceness  of  his  look 
A  shade  of  darkened  sadness  took,  — 
For  dark  and  sad  a  presage  pressed 
Resistlessly  on  Bertram's  breast,  — 
And  when  he  spoke,  his  wonted  tone, 
So  fierce,  abrupt,  and  brief,  was  gone. 
His  voice  was  steady,  low,  and  deep. 
Like  distant  waves  when  breezes  sleep ; 
And  sorrow  mixed  with  Edmund's  fear. 
Its  low  unbroken  depth  to  hear. 

XX 

'Edmund,  in  thy  sad  tale  I  find 
The  woe  that  warped  my  patron's  mind; 
'T  would  wake  the  fountains  of  the  eye 
In  other  men,  but  mine  are  dry. 
Mortham  must  never  see  the  fool 
That  sold  himself  base  Wycliffe's  tool, 
Yet  less  from  thirst  of  sordid  gain 
Than  to  avenge  supposed  disdain. 
Say  Bertram  rues  his  fault  —  a  word 
204 


ROKEBY 

Till  now  from  Bertram  never  heard : 
Say,  too,  that  Mortham's  lord  he  prays 
To  think  but  on  their  former  days ; 
On  Quariana's  beach  and  rock. 
On  Cayo's  bursting  battle-shock. 
On  Darien's  sands  and  deadly  dew. 
And  on  the  dart  Tlatzeca  threw ;  — 
Perchance  my  patron  yet  may  hear 
More  that  may  grace  his  comrade's  bier. 
My  soul  hath  felt  a  secret  weight, 
A  warning  of  approaching  fate: 
A  priest  had  said,  "Return,  repent!" 
As  well  to  bid  that  rock  be  rent. 
Firm  as  that  flint  I  face  mine  end ; 
My  heart  may  burst,  but  cannot  bend. 

XXI 

*The  dawning  of  my  youth  with  awe 
And  prophecy  the  Dalesmen  saw; 
For  over  Redesdale  it  came, 
As  bodeful  as  their  beacon-flame. 
Edmund,  thy  years  were  scarcely  mine 
When,  challenging  the  Clans  of  Tyne 
To  bring  their  best  my  brand  to  prove, 
O'er  Hexham's  altar  hung  my  glove ;  * 
But  Tynedale,  nor  in  tower  nor  town, 

»  See  Note  6s. 
20S 


ROKEBY 

Held  champion  meet  to  take  it  down. 
My  noontide  India  may  declare; 
Like  her  fierce  sun,  I  fired  the  air! 
Like  him,  to  wood  and  cave  bade  fly 
Her  natives  from  mine  angry  eye. 
Panama's  maids  shall  long  look  pale 
When  Risingham  inspires  the  tale ; 
Chili's  dark  matrons  long  shall  tame 
The  froward  child  with  Bertram's  name. 
And  now,  my  race  of  terror  run. 
Mine  be  the  eve  of  tropic  sun! 
No  pale  gradations  quench  his  ray, 
No  twilight  dews  his  wrath  allay ; 
With  disk  like  battle-target  red 
He  rushes  to  his  burning  bed, 
Dyes  the  wide  wave  with  bloody  light, 
Then  sinks  at  once  —  and  all  is  night.  — 

XXII 

'Now  to  thy  mission,  Edmund.   Fly, 
Seek  Mortham  out,  and  bid  him  hie 
To  Richmond  where  his  troops  are  laid. 
And  lead  his  force  to  Redmond's  aid. 
Say  till  he  reaches  Eglistone 
A  friend  will  watch  to  guard  his  son. 
Now,  f are-thee-well ;  for  night  draws  on. 
And  I  would  rest  me  here  alone.' 
206 


ROKEBY 

Despite  his  ill-dissembled  fear, 
There  swam  in  Edmund's  eye  a  tear; 
A  tribute  to  the  courage  high 
Which  stooped  not  in  extremity, 
But  strove,  irregularly  great, 
To  triumph  o'er  approaching  fate! 
Bertram  beheld  the  dew-drop  start, 
It  almost  touched  his  iron  heart: 
*I  did  not  think  there  lived,'  he  said, 
'One  who  would  tear  for  Bertram  shed.* 
He  loosened  then  his  baldric's  hold, 
A  buckle  broad  of  massive  gold ;  — 
*0f  all  the  spoil  that  paid  his  pains 
But  this  with  Risingham  remains; 
And  this,  dear  Edmund,  thou  shalt  take, 
And  wear  it  long  for  Bertram's  sake. 
Once  more  —  to  Mortham  speed  amain; 
Farewell!  and  turn  thee  not  again.' 

XXIII 

The  night  has  yielded  to  the  morn. 
And  far  the  hours  of  prime  are  worn. 
Oswald,  who  since  the  dawn  of  day 
Had  cursed  his  messenger's  delay. 
Impatient  questioned  now  his  train, 
'Was  Denzil's  son  returned  again?' 
It  chanced  there  answered  of  the  crew 
207 


ROKEBY 

A  menial  who  young  Edmund  knew: 

*No  son  of  Denzil  this,'  he  said; 

*A  peasant  boy  from  Winston  glade, 
For  song  and  minstrelsy  renowned 
And  knavish  pranks  the  hamlets  round.* 

*Not  Denzil's  son!  —  from  Winston  vale! — 
Then  it  was  false,  that  specious  tale ; 
Or  worse  —  he  hath  despatched  the  youth 
To  show  to  Mortham's  lord  its  truth. 
Fool  that  I  was!  —  But 't  is  too  late;  — 
This  is  the  very  turn  of  fate !  — 
The  tale,  or  true  or  false,  relies 
On  Denzil's  evidence!  —  He  dies!  — 
Ho !  Provost  Marshal !  instantly 
Lead  Denzil  to  the  gallows-tree! 
Allow  him  not  a  parting  word ; 
Short  be  the  shrift  and  sure  the  cord  I 
Then  let  his  gory  head  appall 
Marauders  from  the  castle-wall. 
Lead  forth  thy  guard,  that  duty  done, 
With  best  despatch  to  Eglistone.  — 
Basil,  tell  Wilfrid  he  must  straight 
Attend  me  at  the  castle-gate.' 

XXIV 

'Alas!*  the  old  domestic  said, 
And  shook  his  venerable  head, 
208 


ROKEBY 

*AIas,  my  lord!  full  ill  to-day 
May  my  young  master  brook  the  way! 
The  leech  has  spoke  with  grave  alarm 
Of  unseen  hurt,  of  secret  harm, 
Of  sorrow  lurking  at  the  heart, 
That  mars  and  lets  his  healing  art.* 
'Tush!  tell  not  me!  —  Romantic  boys 
Pine  themselves  sick  for  airy  toys, 
I  will  find  cure  for  Wilfrid  soon ; 
Bid  him  for  Eglistone  be  boune. 
And  quick!  —  I  hear  the  dull  death-drum 
Tell  Denzil's  hour  of  fate  is  come.' 
He  paused  with  scornful  smile,  and  then 
Resumed  his  train  of  thought  agen. 
*  Now  comes  my  fortune's  crisis  near ! 
Entreaty  boots  not  —  instant  fear, 
Nought  else,  can  bend  Matilda's  pride 
Or  win  her  to  be  Wilfrid's  bride. 
But  when  she  sees  the  scaffold  placed. 
With  axe  and  block  and  headsman  graced, 
And  when  she  deems  that  to  deny 
Dooms  Redmond  and  her  sire  to  die. 
She  must  give  way.  —  Then,  were  the  line 
Of  Rokeby  once  combined  with  mine, 
I  gain  the  weather-gauge  of  fate ! 
If  Mortham  come,  he  comes  too  late, 
While  I,  allied  thus  and  prepared, 
49  209 


ROKEBY 

Bid  him  defiance  to  his  beard.  — 

If  she  prove  stubborn,  shall  I  dare 

To  drop  the  axe?  —  Soft!  pause  we  there. 

Mortham  still  lives  —  yon  youth  may  tell 

His  tale  —  and  Fairfax  loves  him  well ;  — 

Else,  wherefore  should  I  now  delay 

To  sweep  this  Redmond  from  my  way?  — 

But  she  to  piety  perforce 

Must  yield.  —  Without  there!  Sound  to  horse!' 

XXV 

*T  was  bustle  in  the  court  below,  — 
'Mount,  and  march  forward!'   Forth  they  go; 
Steeds  neigh  and  trample  all  around, 
Steel  rings,  spears  glimmer,  trumpets  sound.  — 
Just  then  was  sung  his  parting  hymn ; 
And  Denzil  turned  his  eyeballs  dim, 
And,  scarcely  conscious  what  he  sees, 
Follows  the  horsemen  down  the  Tees ; 
And  scarcely  conscious  what  he  hears, 
The  trumpets  tingle  in  his  ears. 
O'er  the  long  bridge  they're  sweeping  now, 
The  van  is  hid  by  greenwood  bough ; 
But  ere  the  rearward  had  passed  o'er 
Guy  Denzil  heard  and  saw  no  more! 
One  stroke  upon  the  castle-bell 
To  Oswald  rung  his  dying  knell. 

2IO 


1 


ROKEBY 

XXVI 

O,  for  that  pencil,  erst  profuse 
Of  chivalry's  emblazoned  hues, 
That  traced  of  old  in  Woodstock  bower 
The  pageant  of  the  Leaf  and  Flower, 
And  bodied  forth  the  tourney  high 
Held  for  the  hand  of  Emily! 
Then  might  I  paint  the  tumult  broad 
That  to  the  crowded  abbey  flowed, 
And  poured,  as  with  an  ocean's  sound, 
Into  the  church's  ample  bound! 
Then  might  I  show  each  varying  mien, 
Exulting,  woful,  or  serene; 
Indifference,  with  his  idiot  stare. 
And  Sympathy,  with  anxious  air; 
Paint  the  dejected  Cavalier, 
Doubtful,  disarmed,  and  sad  of  cheer; 
And  his  proud  foe,  whose  formal  eye 
Claimed  conquest  now  and  mastery; 
And  the  brute  crowd,  whose  envious  zeal 
Huzzas  each  turn  of  Fortune's  wheel, 
And  loudest  shouts  when  lowest  lie 
Exalted  worth  and  station  high. 
Yet  what  may  such  a  wish  avail? 
'T  is  mine  to  tell  an  onward  tale. 
Hurrying,  as  best  I  can,  along 

211 


ROKEBY 

The  hearers  and  the  hasty  song;  — 
Like  traveller  when  approaching  home, 
Who  sees  the  shades  of  evening  come, 
And  must  not  now  his  course  delay, 
Or  choose  the  fair  but  winding  way: 
Nay,  scarcely  may  his  pace  suspend, 
Where  o'er  his  head  the  wildings  bend, 
To  bless  the  breeze  that  cools  his  brow 
Or  snatch  a  blossom  from  the  bough. 

XXVII 

The  reverend  pile  lay  wild  and  waste, 
Profaned,  dishonoured,  and  defaced. 
Through  storied  lattices  no  more 
In  softened  light  the  sunbeams  pour. 
Gilding  the  Gothic  sculpture  rich 
Of  shrine  and  monument  and  niche. 
The  civil  fury  of  the  time 
Made  sport  of  sacrilegious  crime; 
For  dark  fanaticism  rent 
Altar  and  screen  and  ornament, 
And  peasant  hands  the  tombs  o'erthrew 
Of  Bowes,  of  Rokeby,  and  Fitz-Hugh. 
And  now  was  seen,  unwonted  sight, 
In  holy  walls  a  scaffold  dight ! 
Where  once  the  priest  of  grace  divine 
Dealt  to  his  flock  the  mystic  sign, 

212 


ROKEBY 

There  stood  the  block  displayed,  and  there 

The  headsman  grim  his  hatchet  bare, 

And  for  the  word  of  hope  and  faith 

Resounded  loud  a  doom  of  death. 

Thrice  the  fierce  trumpet's  breath  was  heard, 

And  echoed  thrice  the  herald's  word, 

Dooming,  for  breach  of  martial  laws 

And  treason  to  the  Commons'  cause. 

The  Knight  of  Rokeby,  and  O'Neale, 

To  stoop  their  heads  to  block  and  steel. 

The  trumpets  flourished  high  and  shrill, 

Then  was  a  silence  dead  and  still ; 

And  silent  prayers  to  Heaven  were  cast, 

And  stifled  sobs  were  bursting  fast. 

Till  from  the  crowd  begun  to  rise 

Murmurs  of  sorrow  or  surprise. 

And  from  the  distant  aisles  there  came 

Deep-muttered  threats  with  Wycliffe's  name. 

XXVIII 

But  Oswald,  guarded  by  his  band. 
Powerful  in  evil,  waved  his  hand, 
And  bade  Sedition's  voice  be  dead. 
On  peril  of  the  murmurer's  head. 
Then  first  his  glance  sought  Rokeby's  Knight, 
Who  gazed  on  the  tremendous  sight 
As  calm  as  if  he  came  a  guest 
213 


ROKEBY 

To  kindred  baron's  feudal  feast, 
As  calm  as  if  that  trumpet-call 
Were  summons  to  the  bannered  hall ; 
Firm  in  his  loyalty  he  stood, 
And  prompt  to  seal  it  with  his  blood. 
With  downcast  look  drew  Oswald  nigh,  — 
He  durst  not  cope  with  Rokeby's  eye !  — 
And  said  with  low  and  faltering  breath, 

'Thou  know'st  the  terms  of  life  and  death.* 
The  knight  then  turned  and  sternly  smiled : 

'The  maiden  is  mine  only  child, 
Yet  shall  my  blessing  leave  her  head 
If  with  a  traitor's  son  she  wed.' 
Then  Redmond  spoke:  'The  life  of  one 
Might  thy  malignity  atone. 
On  me  be  flung  a  double  guilt ! 
Spare  Rokeby's  blood,  let  mine  be  spilt!* 
Wycliffe  had  listened  to  his  suit, 
But  dread  prevailed  and  he  was  mute. 

XXIX 

And  now  he  pours  his  choice  of  fear 
In  secret  on  Matilda's  ear; 
'An  union  formed  with  me  and  mine 
Ensures  the  faith  of  Rokeby's  line. 
Consent,  and  all  this  dread  array 
Like  morning  dream  shall  pass  away; 
214 


1 


ROKEBY 

Refuse,  and  by  my  duty  pressed 

I  give  the  word  —  thou  know'st  the  rest.* 

Matilda,  still  and  motionless. 

With  terror  heard  the  dread  address, 

Pale  as  the  sheeted  maid  who  dies 

To  hopeless  love  a  sacrifice; 

Then  wrung  her  hands  in  agony, 

And  round  her  cast  bewildered  eye. 

Now  on  the  scaffold  glanced,  and  now 

On  Wycliffe's  unrelenting  brow. 

She  veiled  her  face,  and  with  a  voice 

Scarce  audible,  *  I  make  my  choice ! 

Spare  but  their  lives !  —  for  aught  beside 

Let  Wilfrid's  doom  my  fate  decide. 

He  once  was  generous ! '  As  she  spoke. 

Dark  Wycliffe's  joy  in  triumph  broke: 

'Wilfrid,  where  loitered  ye  so  late? 
Why  upon  Basil  rest  thy  weight?  — 
Art  spell-bound  by  enchanter's  wand?  — 
Kneel,  kneel,  and  take  her  yielded  hand; 
Thank  her  with  raptures,  simple  boy ! 
Should  tears  and  trembling  speak  thy  joy?' 

*0  hush,  my  sire!  To  prayer  and  tear 
Of  mine  thou  hast  refused  thine  ear ; 
But  now  the  awiul  hour  draws  on 
When  Truth  must  speak  in  loftier  tone.' 


215 


ROKEBY 

XXX 

He  took  Matilda's  hand :  '  Dear  maid, 
Couldst  thou  so  injure  me,'  he  said, 
'Of  thy  poor  friend  so  basely  deem 
As  blend  with  him  this  barbarous  scheme? 
Alas !  my  efforts  made  in  vain 
Might  well  have  saved  this  added  pain. 
But  now,  bear  witness  earth  and  heaven 
That  ne'er  was  hope  to  mortal  given 
So  twisted  with  the  strings  of  life 
As  this  —  to  call  Matilda  wife! 
I  bid  it  now  for  ever  part, 
And  with  the  effort  bursts  my  heart.* 
His  feeble  frame  was  worn  so  low, 
With  wounds,  with  watching,  and  with  woe 
That  nature  could  no  more  sustain 
The  agony  of  mental  pain. 
He  kneeled  —  his  lip  her  hand  had  pressed, 
Just  then  he  felt  the  stern  arrest. 
Lower  and  lower  sunk  his  head,  — 
They  raised  him,  —  but  the  life  was  fled! 
Then  first  alarmed  his  sire  and  train 
Tried  every  aid,  but  tried  in  vain. 
The  soul,  too  soft  its  ills  to  bear. 
Had  left  our  mortal  hemisphere. 
And  sought  in  better  world  the  meed 
To  blameless  life  by  Heaven  decreed. 
216 


ROKEBY 

XXXI 

The  wretched  sire  beheld  aghast 
With  Wilfrid  all  his  projects  past, 
All  turned  and  centred  on  his  son, 
On  Wilfrid  all  —  and  he  was  gone. 

'And  I  am  childless  now,'  he  said; 

'Childless,  through  that  relentless  maid! 
A  lifetime's  arts  in  vain  essayed 
Are  bursting  on  their  artist's  head! 
Here  lies  my  Wilfrid  dead  —  and  there 
Comes  hated  Mortham  for  his  heir, 
Eager  to  knit  in  happy  band 
With  Rokeby's  heiress  Redmond's  hand. 
And  shall  their  triumph  soar  o'er  all 
The  schemes  deep-laid  to  work  their  fall? 
No !  —  deeds  which  prudence  might  not  dare 
Appall  not  vengeance  and  despair. 
The  murderess  weeps  upon  his  bier  — 
I  '11  change  to  real  that  feigned  tear ! 
They  all  shall  share  destruction's  shock;  — 
Ho !  lead  the  captives  to  the  block !  * 
But  ill  his  provost  could  divine 
His  feelings,  and  forbore  the  sign. 

*  Slave !  to  the  block !  —  or  I  or  they 
Shall  face  the  judgment-seat  this  day!' 


217 


ROKEBY 

XXXII 

The  outmost  crowd  have  heard  a  sound 
Like  horse's  hoof  on  hardened  ground ; 
Nearer  it  came,  and  yet  more  near,  — 
The  very  death's-men  paused  to  hear. 
'T  is  in  the  churchyard  now  —  the  tread 
Hath  waked  the  dwelling  of  the  dead! 
Fresh  sod  and  old  sepulchral  stone 
Return  the  tramp  in  varied  tone. 
All  eyes  upon  the  gateway  hung, 
When  through  the  Gothic  arch  there  sprung 
A  horseman  armed  at  headlong  speed  — 
Sable  his  cloak,  his  plume,  his  steed. ^ 
Fire  from  the  flinty  floor  was  spurned, 
The  vaults  unwonted  clang  returned !  — 
One  instant's  glance  around  he  threw, 
From  saddlebow  his  pistol  drew. 
Grimly  determined  was  his  look ! 
His  charger  with  the  spurs  he  strook  — 
All  scattered  backward  as  he  came, 
For  all  knew  Bertram  Risingham ! 
Three  bounds  that  noble  courser  gave ; 
The  first  has  reached  the  central  nave, 
The  second  cleared  the  chancel  wide. 
The  third  —  he  was  at  Wycliffe's  side. 

«  See  Note  66. 
2l8 


ROKEBY 

Full  levelled  at  the  baron's  head, 
Rung  the  report  —  the  bullet  sped  — 
And  to  his  long  account  and  last 
Without  a  groan  dark  Oswald  past ! 
All  was  so  quick  that  it  might  seem 
A  flash  of  lightning  or  a  dream. 

XXXIII 

While  yet  the  smoke  the  deed  conceals, 
Bertram  his  ready  charger  wheels; 
But  floundered  on  the  pavement-floor 
The  steed  and  down  the  rider  bore, 
And,  bursting  in  the  headlong  sway, 
The  faithless  saddle-girths  gave  way. 
'T  was  while  he  toiled  him  to  be  freed, 
And  with  the  rein  to  raise  the  steed, 
That  from  amazement's  iron  trance 
All  Wycliffe's  soldiers  waked  at  once. 
Sword,  halberd,  musket-butt,  their  blows 
Hailed  upon  Bertram  as  he  rose ; 
A  score  of  pikes  with  each  a  wound 
Bore  down  and  pinned  him  to  the  ground ; 
But  still  his  struggling  force  he  rears, 
'Gainst  hacking  brands  and  stabbing  spears, 
Thrice  from  assailants  shook  him  free. 
Once  gained  his  feet  and  twice  his  knee. 
By  tenfold  odds  oppressed  at  length,    , 
219 


ROKEBY 

Despite  his  struggles  and  his  strength, 
He  took  a  hundred  mortal  wounds 
As  mute  as  fox  'mongst  mangling  hounds; 
And  when  he  died  his  parting  groan 
Had  more  of  laughter  than  of  moan! 
They  gazed  as  when  a  lion  dies, 
And  hunters  scarcely  trust  their  eyes, 
But  bend  their  weapons  on  the  slain 
Lest  the  grim  king  should  rouse  again! 
Then  blow  and  insult  some  renewed, 
And  from  the  trunk  the  head  had  hewed, 
But  Basil's  voice  the  deed  forbade; 
A  mantle  o'er  the  corse  he  laid :  — 
'Fell  as  he  was  in  act  and  mind, 
He  left  no  bolder  heart  behind : 
Then,  give  him,  for  a  soldier  meet, 
A  soldier's  cloak  for  winding  sheet.* 

XXXIV 

No  more  of  death  and  dying  pang, 
No  more  of  trump  and  bugle  clang. 
Though  through  the  sounding  woods  there  come 
Banner  and  bugle,  trump  and  drum. 
Armed  with  such  powers  as  well  had  freed 
Young  Redmond  at  his  utmost  need, 
And  backed  with  such  a  band  of  horse 
As  might  less  ample  powers  enforce, 
220 


ROKEBY 

Possessed  of  every  proof  and  sign 
That  gave  an  heir  to  Mortham's  line, 
And  yielded  to  a  father's  arms 
An  image  of  his  Edith's  charms,  — 
Mortham  is  come,  to  hear  and  see 
Of  this  strange  morn  the  history. 
What  saw  he?  —  not  the  church's  floor, 
Cumbered  with  dead  and  stained  with  gore; 
What  heard  he?  —  not  the  clamorous  crowd. 
That  shout  their  gratulations  loud : 
Redmond  he  saw  and  heard  alone, 
Clasped  him  and  sobbed,  'My  son!  my  son!' 

XXXV 

This  chanced  upon  a  summer  morn, 

When  yellow  waved  the  heavy  corn: 

But  when  brown  August  o'er  the  land 

Called  forth  the  reaper's  busy  band, 

A  gladsome  sight  the  sylvan  road 

From  Eglistone  to  Mortham  showed. 

Awhile  the  hardy  rustic  leaves 

The  task  to  bind  and  pile  the  sheaves. 

And  maids  their  sickles  fling  aside 

To  gaze  on  bridegroom  and  on  bride. 

And  childhood's  wondering  group  draws  near, 

And  from  the  gleaner's  hands  the  ear 

Drops  while  she  folds  them  for  a  prayer 

221 


ROKEBY 

And  blessing  on  the  lovely  pair. 
*T  was  then  the  Maid  of  Rokeby  gave 
Her  plighted  troth  to  Redmond  brave; 
And  Teesdale  can  remember  yet 
How  Fate  to  Virtue  paid  her  debt, 
And  for  their  troubles  bade  them  prove 
A  lengthened  life  of  peace  and  love. 


Time  and  Tide  had  thus  their  sway, 
Yielding,  like  an  April  day, 
Smiling  noon  for  sullen  morrow, 
Years  of  joy  for  hours  of  sorrow ! 


THE  LORD  OF  THE   ISLES 
A   POEM   IN   SIX   CANTOS 


ADVERTISEMENT 

The  Scene  of  this  Poem  lies,  at  first,  in  the  Castle  of  Artor- 
nish,  on  the  coast  of  Argyleshire;  and,  afterwards,  in  the  Islands 
of  Skye  and  Arran,  and  upon  the  coast  of  Ayrshire.  Finally  it  is 
laid  near  Stirling.  The  story  opens  in  the  spring  of  the  year 
1307,  when  Bruce,  who  had  been  driven  out  of  Scotland  by  the 
English,  and  the  Barons  who  adhered  to  that  foreign  interest, 
returned  from  the  Island  of  Rachrin  on  the  coast  of  Ireland, 
again  to  assert  his  claims  to  the  Scottish  crown.  Many  of  the 
personages  and  incidents  introduced  are  of  historical  celeb- 
rity. The  authorities  used  are  chiefly  those  of  the  venerable 
Lord  Hailes,  as  well  entitled  to  be  called  the  restorer  of  Scot- 
tish history,  as  Bruce  the  restorer  of  Scottish  Monarchy;  and 
of  Archdeacon  Barbour;  a  correct  edition  of  whose  Metrical 
History  of  Robert  Bruce  will  soon,  I  trust,  appear,  under  the 
care  of  my  learned  friend,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Jamieson. 

Abbotsfoed,  loth  December,  1814. 
40 


INTRODUCTION 

I  COULD  hardly  have  chosen  a  subject  more  popular  in  Scot- 
land than  anything  connected  with  the  Bruce's  history,  unless 
I  had  attempted  that  of  Wallace.  But  I  am  decidedly  of  opinion 
that  a  popular,  or  what  is  called  a  taking,  title,  though  well 
qualified  to  ensure  the  publishers  against  loss,  and  clear  their 
shelves  of  the  original  impression,  is  rather  apt  to  be  hazardous 
than  otherwise  to  the  reputation  of  the  author.  He  who  attempts 
a  subject  of  distinguished  popularity  has  not  the  privilege  of 
awakening  the  enthusiasm  of  his  audience;  on  the  contrary, 
it  is  already  awakened,  and  glows,  it  may  be,  more  ardently 
than  that  of  the  author  himself.  In  this  case  the  warmth  of  the 
author  is  inferior  to  that  of  the  party  whom  he  addresses,  who 
has  therefore  little  chance  of  being,  in  Bayes's  phrase,  'ele- 
vated and  surprised'  by  what  he  has  thought  of  with  more 
enthusiasm  than  the  writer.  The  sense  of  this  risk,  joined  to  the 
consciousness  of  striving  against  wind  and  tide,  made  the  task 
of  composing  the  proposed  Poem  somewhat  heavy  and  hopeless ; 
but,  like  the  prize-fighter  in  As  You  Like  It,  I  was  to  wrestle 
for  my  reputation,  and  not  neglect  any  advantage.  In  a  most 
agreeable  pleasure-voyage,  which  I  have  tried  to  commemorate 
in  the  Introduction  to  the  new  edition  of  the  Pirate,  I  visited, 
in  social  and  friendly  company,  the  coasts  and  islands  of  Scot- 
land, and  made  myself  acquainted  with  the  localities  of  which  I 
meant  to  treat.  But  this  voyage,  which  was  in  every  other  efTect 
so  delightful,  was  in  its  conclusion  saddened  by  one  of  those 
strokes  of  fate  which  so  often  mingle  themselves  with  our 
pleasures.  The  accomplished  and  excellent  person  who  had 
recommended  to  me  the  subject  for  The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel 
[Harriet,  Duchess  of  Buccleuch],  and  to  whom  I  proposed  to 
inscribe  what  I  already  suspected  might  be  the  close  of  my 
poetical  labours,  was  unexpectedly  removed  from  the  world, 

227 


INTRODUCTION 

which  she  seemed  only  to  have  visited  for  purposes  of  kindness 
and  benevolence.  It  is  needless  to  say  how  the  author's  feelings, 
or  the  composition  of  his  trifling  work,  were  affected  by  a  cir- 
cumstance which  occasioned  so  many  tears  and  so  much 
sorrow.  True  it  is,  that  The  Lord  of  the  Isles  was  concluded, 
unwillingly  and  in  haste,  under  the  painful  feeling  of  one  who 
has  a  task  which  must  be  finished,  rather  than  with  the  ardour 
of  one  who  endeavours  to  perform  that  task  well.  Although  the 
Poem  cannot  be  said  to  have  made  a  favourable  impression  on 
the  public,  the  sale  of  fifteen  thousand  copies  enabled  the 
Author  to  retreat  from  the  field  with  the  honours  of  war. 

In  the  mean  time,  what  was  necessarily  to  be  considered  as  a 
failure  was  much  reconciled  to  my  feelings  by  the  success  attend- 
ing my  attempt  in  another  species  of  composition.  Waverley 
had,  under  strict  incognito,  taken  its  flight  from  the  press,  just 
before  I  set  out  upon  the  voyage  already  mentioned;  it  had  now 
made  its  way  to  popularity,  and  the  success  of  that  work  and 
the  volumes  which  followed  was  sufficient  to  have  satisfied  a 
greater  appetite  for  applause  than  I  have  at  any  time  possessed. 

I  may  as  well  add  in  this  place,  that,  being  much  urged  by  my 
intimate  friend,  now  unhappily  no  more,  William  Erskine  (a 
Scottish  judge,  by  the  title  of  Lord  Kinedder),  I  agreed  to  write 
the  little  romantic  tale  called  the  Bridal  of  Triermain;  but  it  was 
on  the  condition  that  he  should  make  no  serious  effort  to  disown 
the  composition,  if  report  should  lay  it  at  his  door.  As  he  was 
more  than  suspected  of  a  taste  for  poetry,  and  as  I  took  care,  in 
several  places,  to  mix  something  which  might  resemble  (as  far  as 
was  in  my  power)  my  friend's  feeling  and  manner,  the  train 
easily  caught,  and  two  large  editions  were  sold.  A  third  being 
called  for,  Lord  Kinedder  became  unwilling  to  aid  any  longer  a 
deception  which  was  going  farther  than  he  expected  or  desired, 
and  the  real  author's  name  was  given.  Upon  another  occasion, 
I  sent  up  another  of  these  trifles,  which,  like  schoolboy's  kites, 
served  to  show  how  the  wind  of  popular  taste  was  setting.  The 
manner  was  supposed  to  be  that  of  a  rude  minstrel,  or  Scald,  in 
opposition  to  the  Bridal  of  Triermain,  which  was  designed  to 

228 


INTRODUCTION 

belong  rather  to  the  Italian  school.  This  new  fugitive  piece  was 
called  Harold  the  Dauntless ;  and  I  am  still  astonished  at  my 
having  committed  the  gross  error  of  selecting  the  very  name 
which  Lord  Byron  had  made  so  famous.  It  encountered  rather 
an  odd  fate.  My  ingenious  friend,  Mr.  James  Hogg,  had  pub- 
lished, about  the  same  time,  a  work  called  the  Poetic  Mirror, 
containing  imitations  of  the  principal  living  poets.  There  was  in 
it  a  very  good  imitation  of  my  own  style,  which  bore  such  a 
resemblance  to  Harold  the  Dauntless,  that  there  was  no  discover- 
ing the  original  from  the  imitation ;  and  I  believe  that  many  who 
took  the  trouble  of  thinking  upon  the  subject,  were  rather  of 
opinion  that  my  ingenious  friend  was  the  true,  and  not  the 
fictitious  Simon  Pure.  Since  this  period,  which  was  in  the  year 
i8i6,  the  Author  has  not  been  an  intruder  on  the  public  by  any 
poetical  work  of  importance. 

Abbotsfoed,  April,  1830. 


CANTO  FIRST 

Autumn  departs  —  but  still  his  mantle's  fold 
Rests  on  the  groves  of  noble  Somerville, 
Beneath  a  shroud  of  russet  drooped  with  gold 
Tweed  and  his  tributaries  mingle  still ; 
Hoarser  the  wind  and  deeper  sounds  the  rill, 
Yet  lingering  notes  of  sylvan  music  swell, 
The  deep-toned  cushat  and  the  redbreast  shrill ; 
And  yet  some  tints  of  summer  splendour  tell 
When  the  broad  sun  sinks  down  on  Ettrick's  western  fell. 

Autumn  departs  —  from  Gala's  fields  no  more 
Come  rural  sounds  our  kindred  banks  to  cheer; 
Blent  with  the  stream  and  gale  that  wafts  it  o'er. 
No  more  the  distant  reaper's  mirth  we  hear. 
The  last  blithe  shout  hath  died  upon  our  ear, 
And  harvest-home  hath  hushed  the  clanging  wain, 
On  the  waste  hills  no  forms  of  life  appear. 
Save  where,  sad  laggard  of  the  autumnal  strain. 
Some  age-struck  wanderer  gleans  few  ears  of  scattered 
grain. 

Deem'st  thou  these  saddened  scenes  have  pleasure 

still, 
Lov'st  thou  through  Autumn's  fading  realms  to  stray, 
231 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

To  see  the  heath-flower  withered  on  the  hill, 
To  Hsten  to  the  woods'  expiring  lay, 
To  note  the  red  leaf  shivering  on  the  spray, 
To  mark  the  last  bright  tints  the  mountain  stain, 
On  the  waste  fields  to  trace  the  gleaner's  way, 
And  moralise  on  mortal  joy  and  pain?  — 
O,  if  such  scenes  thou  lov'st,  scorn  not  the  minstrel  strain! 

No!  do  not  scorn,  although  its  hoarser  note 
Scarce  with  the  cushat's  homely  song  can  vie. 
Though  faint  its  beauties  as  the  tints  remote 
That  gleam  through  mist  in  autumn's  evening  sky, 
And  few  as  leaves  that  tremble,  sear  and  dry, 
When  wild  November  hath  his  bugle  wound ; 
Nor  mock  my  toil  —  a  lonely  gleaner  I 
Through  fields  time-wasted,  on  sad  inquest  bound 
Where  happier  bards  of  yore  have  richer  harvest  found. 

So  shalt  thou  list,  and  haply  not  unmoved, 
To  a  wild  tale  of  Albyn's  warrior  day; 
In  distant  lands,  by  the  rough  West  reproved. 
Still  live  some  relics  of  the  ancient  lay. 
For,  when  on  Coolin's  hills  the  lights  decay, 
With  such  the  Seer  of  Skye  the  eve  beguiles; 
'T  is  known  amid  the  pathless  wastes  of  Reay, 
In  Harries  known  and  in  lona's  piles, 
Where  rest  from  mortal  coil  the  Mighty  of  the  Isles. 

232 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

I 

*Wake,  Maid  of  Lorn!'  the  minstrels  sung. 
Thy  rugged  halls,  Artornish,  rung,^ 
And  the  dark  seas  thy  towers  that  lave 
Heaved  on  the  beach  a  softer  wave, 
As  'mid  the  tuneful  choir  to  keep 
The  diapason  of  the  deep. 
Lulled  were  the  winds  on  Inninmore 
And  green  Loch-Alline's  woodland  shore, 
As  if  wild  woods  and  waves  had  pleasure 
In  listing  to  the  lovely  measure. 
And  ne'er  to  symphony  more  sweet 
Gave  mountain  echoes  answer  meet 
Since,  met  from  mainland  and  from  isle, 
Ross,  Arran,  Islay,  and  Argyle, 
Each  minstrel's  tributary  lay 
Paid  homage  to  the  festal  day. 
Dull  and  dishonoured  were  the  bard, 
"Worthless  of  guerdon  and  regard. 
Deaf  to  the  hope  of  minstrel  fame, 
Or  lady's  smiles,  his  noblest  aim, 
Who  on  that  morn's  resistless  call 
Was  silent  in  Artornish  hall. 


*  See  Note  67. 
233 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

II 

'Wake,  Maid  of  Lorn!'  —  't  was  thus  they  sung, 

And  yet  more  proud  the  descant  rung, 
'Wake,  Maid  of  Lorn!  high  right  is  ours 

To  charm  dull  sleep  from  Beauty's  Bowers; 

Earth,  ocean,  air,  have  nought  so  shy 

But  owns  the  power  of  minstrelsy. 

In  Lettermore  the  timid  deer 

Will  pause  the  harp's  wild  chime  to  hear; 

Rude  Heiskar's  seal  through  surges  dark 

Will  long  pursue  the  minstrel's  bark;^ 

To  list  his  notes  the  eagle  proud 

Will  poise  him  on  Ben-Cailliach's  cloud; 

Then  let  not  maiden's  ear  disdain 

The  summons  of  the  minstrel  train, 

But  while  our  harps  wild  music  make, 

Edith  of  Lorn,  awake,  awake! 

Ill 

'O,  wake  while  Dawn  with  dewy  shine 
Wakes  Nature's  charms  to  vie  with  thine! 
She  bids  the  mottled  thrush  rejoice 
To  mate  thy  melody  of  voice ; 
The  dew  that  on  the  violet  lies 
Mocks  the  dark  lustre  of  thine  eyes; 

«  See  Note  68. 
234 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

But,  Edith,  wake,  and  all  we  see 
Of  sweet  and  fair  shall  yield  to  thee ! '  — 
'She  comes  not  yet,'  grey  Ferrand  cried; 
'Brethren,  let  softer  spell  be  tried. 
Those  notes  prolonged,  that  soothing  theme, 
Which  best  may  mix  with  Beauty's  dream. 
And  whisper  with  their  silvery  tone 
The  hope  she  loves  yet  fears  to  own.' 
He  spoke,  and  on  the  harp-strings  died 
The  strains,  of  flattery  and  of  pride  ; 
More  soft,  more  low,  more  tender  fell 
The  lay  of  love  he  bade  them  tell. 

IV 

*Wake,  Maid  of  Lorn!  the  moments  fly 

Which  yet  that  maiden-name  allow; 
Wake,  Maiden,  wake !  the  hour  is  nigh 

When  love  shall  claim  a  plighted  vow. 
By  Fear,  thy  bosom's  fluttering  guest, 

By  Hope,  that  soon  shall  fears  remove, 
We  bid  thee  break  the  bonds  of  rest, 

And  wake  thee  at  the  call  of  Love! 

'Wake,  Edith,  wake!  in  yonder  bay 
Lies  many  a  galley  gayly  manned, 

We  hear  the  merry  pibroch's  play, 
We  see  the  streamers'  silken  band. 
235 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

What  chieftain's  praise  these  pibrochs  swell, 
What  crest  is  on  these  banners  wove, 

The  harp,  the  minstrel,  dare  not  tell  — 
The  riddle  must  be  read  by  Love!' 

V 

Retired  her  maiden  train  among, 
Edith  of  Lorn  received  the  song, 
But  tamed  the  minstrel's  pride  had  been 
That  had  her  cold  demeanour  seen ; 
For  not  upon  her  cheek  awoke 
The  glow  of  pride  when  Flattery  spoke, 
Nor  could  their  tenderest  numbers  bring 
One  sigh  responsive  to  the  string. 
As  vainly  had  her  maidens  vied 
In  skill  to  deck  the  princely  bride. 
Her  locks  in  dark-brown  length  arrayed, 
Cathleen  of  Ulne,  't  was  thine  to  braid; 
Young  Eva  with  meet  reverence  drew 
On  the  light  foot  the  silken  shoe, 
While  on  the  ankle's  slender  round 
Those  strings  of  pearl  fair  Bertha  wound 
That,  bleached  Lochryan's  depths  within, 
Seemed  dusky  still  on  Edith's  skin. 
But  Einion,  of  experience  old, 
Had  weightiest  task  —  the  mantle's  fold 
In  many  an  artful  plait  she  tied 
236 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

To  show  the  form  it  seemed  to  hide, 
Till  on  the  floor  descending  rolled 
Its  waves  of  crimson  blent  with  gold. 

VI 

O,  lives  there  now  so  cold  a  maid, 
Who  thus  in  beauty's  pomp  arrayed. 
In  beauty's  proudest  pitch  of  power. 
And  conquest  won  —  the  bridal  hour  — 
With  every  charm  that  wins  the  heart. 
By  Nature  given,  enhanced  by  Art, 
Could  yet  the  fair  reflection  view 
In  the  bright  mirror  pictured  true, 
And  not  one  dimple  on  her  cheek 
A  telltale  consciousness  bespeak?  — 
Lives  still  such  maid?  —  Fair  damsels,  say, 
For  further  vouches  not  my  lay 
Save  that  such  lived  in  Britain's  isle 
When  Lorn's  bright  Edith  scorned  to  smile. 

VII 

But  Morag,  to  whose  fostering  care 
Proud  Lorn  had  given  his  daughter  fair, 
Morag,  who  saw  a  mother's  aid 
By  all  a  daughter's  love  repaid  — 
Strict  was  that  bond,  most  kind  of  all, 
Inviolate  in  Highland  hall  — 
237 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Gray  Morag  sate  a  space  apart, 
In  Edith's  eyes  to  read  her  heart. 
In  vain  the  attendant's  fond  appeal 
To  Morag's  skill,  to  Morag's  zeal; 
She  marked  her  child  receive  their  care, 
Cold  as  the  image  sculptured  fair  — 
Form  of  some  sainted  patroness  — 
Which  cloistered  maids  combine  to  dress ; 
She  marked  —  and  knew  her  nursling's  heart 
In  the  vain  pomp  took  little  part. 
Wistful  awhile  she  gazed  —  then  pressed 
The  maiden  to  her  anxious  breast 
In  finished  loveliness  —  and  led 
To  where  a  turret's  airy  head, 
Slender  and  steep  and  battled  round, 
O'erlooked,  dark  Mull,  thy  mighty  Sound,* 
Where  thwarting  tides  with  mingled  roar 
Part  thy  swarth  hills  from  Morven's  shore. 

VIII 

*  Daughter,'  she  said,  'these  seas  behold, 
Round  twice  a  hundred  islands  rolled,^ 
From  Hirt  that  hears  their  northern  roar 
To  the  green  Hay's  fertile  shore; 
Or  mainland  turn  where  many  a  tower 
Owns  thy  bold  brother's  feudal  power, 

«  See  Note  69.  '  See  Note  70. 

238 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Each  on  its  own  dark  cape  reclined 
And  listening  to  its  own  wild  wind, 
From  where  Mingarry  sternly  placed  ^ 
O'erawes  the  woodland  and  the  waste, 
To  where  Dunstaffnage  hears  the  raging 
Of  Connal  with  its  rocks  engaging. 
Think'st  thou  amid  this  ample  round 
A  single  brow  but  thine  has  frowned, 
To  sadden  this  auspicious  morn 
That  bids  the  daughter  of  high  Lorn 
Impledge  her  spousal  faith  to  wed 
The  heir  of  mighty  Somerled?  ^ 
Ronald,  from  many  a  hero  sprung. 
The  fair,  the  valiant,  and  the  young. 
Lord  of  the  Isles,  whose  lofty  name ' 
A  thousand  bards  have  given  to  fame, 
The  mate  of  monarchs,  and  allied 
On  equal  terms  with  England's  pride.  — 
From  chieftain's  tower  to  bondsman's  cot, 
Who  hears  the  tale,  and  triumphs  not? 
The  damsel  dons  her  best  attire, 
The  shepherd  lights  his  beltane  fire, 
Joy!  joy!  each  warder's  horn  hath  sung, 
Joy!  joy!  each  matin  bell  hath  rung; 
The  holy  priest  says  grateful  mass. 
Loud  shouts  each  hardy  galla-glass, 

'  See  Note  71.  *  See  Note  72.  »  See  Note  73. 

239 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

No  mountain  den  holds  outcast  boor 
Of  heart  so  dull,  of  soul  so  poor, 
But  he  hath  flung  his  task  aside, 
And  claimed  this  morn  for  holy-tide; 
Yet,  empress  of  this  joyful  day, 
Edith  is  sad  while  all  are  gay.' 


IX 

Proud  Edith's  soul  came  to  her  eye, 
Resentment  checked  the  struggling  sigh. 
Her  hurrying  hand  indignant  dried 
The  burning  tears  of  injured  pride  — 
'Morag,  forbear!  or  lend  thy  praise 
To  swell  yon  hireling  harpers'  lays ; 
Make  to  yon  maids  thy  boast  of  power, 
That  they  may  waste  a  wondering  hour 
Telling  of  banners  proudly  borne. 
Of  pealing  bell  and  bugle  horn. 
Or,  theme  more  dear,  of  robes  of  price, 
Crownlets  and  gauds  of  rare  device. 
But  thou,  experienced  as  thou  art, 
Think'st  thou  with  these  to  cheat  the  heart 
That,  bound  in  strong  affection's  chain, 
Looks  for  return  and  looks  in  vain? 
No!  sum  thine  Edith's  wretched  lot 
In  these  brief  words  —  He  loves  her  not  I 
240 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

X 

*  Debate  it  not  —  too  long  I  strove 
To  call  his  cold  observance  love, 
All  blinded  by  the  league  that  styled 
Edith  of  Lorn  —  while  yet  a  child 
She  tripped  the  heath  by  Morag's  side  — 
The  brave  Lord  Ronald's  destined  bride. 
Ere  yet  I  saw  him,  while  afar 
His  broadsword  blazed  in  Scotland's  war, 
Trained  to  believe  our  fates  the  same, 
My  bosom  throbbed  when  Ronald's  name 
Came  gracing  Fame's  heroic  tale. 
Like  perfume  on  the  summer  gale. 
What  pilgrim  sought  our  halls  nor  told 
Of  Ronald's  deeds  in  battle  bold; 
Who  touched  the  harp  to  heroes'  praise 
But  his  achievements  swelled  the  lays? 
Even  Morag  —  not  a  tale  of  fame 
Was  hers  but  closed  with  Ronald's  name. 
He  came!  and  all  that  had  been  told 
Of  his  high  worth  seemed  poor  and  cold. 
Tame,  lifeless,  void  of  energy. 
Unjust  to  Ronald  and  to  me! 

XI 

'Since  then,  what  thought  had  Edith's  heart 
And  gave  not  plighted  love  its  part !  — 
49  241 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

And  what  requital?  cold  delay  — 

Excuse  that  shunned  the  spousal  day.  — 

It  dawns  and  Ronald  is  not  here !  — 

Hunts  he  Bentalla's  nimble  deer, 

Or  loiters  he  in  secret  dell 

To  bid  some  lighter  love  farewell, 

And  swear  that  though  he  may  not  scorn 

A  daughter  of  the  House  of  Lorn,^ 

Yet,  when  these  formal  rites  are  o'er, 

Again  they  meet  to  part  no  more?' 

XII 

'Hush,  daughter,  hush!  thy  doubts  remove, 
More  nobly  think  of  Ronald's  love. 
Look,  where  beneath  the  castle  grey 
His  fleet  unmoor  from  Aros  bay! 
See'st  not  each  galley's  topmast  bend 
As  on  the  yards  the  sails  ascend? 
Hiding  the  dark-blue  land  they  rise. 
Like  the  white  clouds  on  April  skies ; 
The  shouting  vassals  man  the  oars, 
Behind  them  sink  Mull's  mountain  shores, 
Onward  their  merry  course  they  keep 
Through  whistling  breeze  and  foaming  deep. 
And  mark  the  headmost,  seaward  cast, 
Stoop  to  the  freshening  gale  her  mast, 

>  See  Note  74. 
242 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

As  if  she  veiled  its  bannered  pride 

To  greet  afar  her  prince's  bride! 

Thy  Ronald  comes,  and  while  in  speed 

His  galley  mates  the  flying  steed, 

He  chides  her  sloth!'  —  Fair  Edith  sighed, 

Blushed,  sadly  smiled,  and  thus  replied : 


XIII 

'Sweet  thought,  but  vain!  —  No,  Morag! 

mark, 
Type  of  his  course,  yon  lonely  bark, 
That  oft  hath  shifted  helm  and  sail 
To  win  its  way  against  the  gale. 
Since  peep  of  morn  my  vacant  eyes 
Have  viewed  by  fits  the  course  she  tries ; 
Now,  though  the  darkening  scud  comes  on, 
And  dawn's  fair  promises  be  gone. 
And  though  the  weary  crew  may  see 
Our  sheltering  haven  on  their  lee. 
Still  closer  to  the  rising  wind 
They  strive  her  shivering  sail  to  bind. 
Still  nearer  to  the  shelves'  dread  verge 
At  every  tack  her  course  they  urge. 
As  if  they  feared  Artornish  more 
Than  adverse  winds  and  breakers'  roar.' 


243 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

XIV 

Sooth  spoke  the  maid.   Amid  the  tide 

The  skiff  she  marked  lay  tossing  sore, 
And  shifted  oft  her  stooping  side, 

In  weary  tack  from  shore  to  shore. 
Yet  on  her  destined  course  no  more 

She  gained  of  forward  way 
Than  what  a  minstrel  may  compare 
To  the  poor  need  which  peasants  share 

Who  toil  the  livelong  day; 
And  such  the  risk  her  pilot  braves 

That  oft,  before  she  wore. 
Her  boltsprit  kissed  the  broken  waves, 
Where  in  white  foam  the  ocean  raves 

Upon  the  shelving  shore. 
Yet,  to  their  destined  purpose  true, 
Undaunted  toiled  her  hardy  crew, 

Nor  looked  where  shelter  lay, 
Nor  for  Artornish  Castle  drew. 

Nor  steered  for  Aros  bay. 

XV 

Thus  while  they  strove  with  winds  and  seas. 
Borne  onward  by  the  willing  breeze, 

Lord  Ronald's  fleet  swept  by, 
Streamered  with  silk  and  tricked  with  gold, 
244 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Manned  with  the  noble  and  the  bold 

Of  Island  chivalry. 
Around  their  prows  the  ocean  roars, 
And  chafes  beneath  their  thousand  oars, 

Yet  bears  them  on  their  way : 
So  chafes  the  war-horse  in  his  might 
That  fieldward  bears  some  valiant  knight, 
Champs  till  both  bit  and  boss  are  white, 

But  foaming  must  obey. 
On  each  gay  deck  they  might  behold 
Lances  of  steel  and  crests  of  gold, 
And  hauberks  with  their  burnished  fold 

That  shimmered  fair  and  free ; 
And  each  proud  galley  as  she  passed 
To  the  wild  cadence  of  the  blast 

Gave  wilder  minstrelsy. 
Full  many  a  shrill  triumphant  note 
Saline  and  Scallastle  bade  float 

Their  misty  shores  around ; 
And  Morven's  echoes  answered  well, 
And  Duart  heard  the  distant  swell 

Come  down  the  darksome  Sound. 

XVI 

So  bore  they  on  with  mirth  and  pride, 
And  if  that  labouring  bark  they  spied, 
'T  was  with  such  idle  eye 
245 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

As  nobles  cast  on  lowly  boor 
When,  toiling  in  his  task  obscure, 

They  pass  him  careless  by, 
Let  them  sweep  on  with  heedless  eyes ! 
But  had  they  known  what  mighty  prize 

In  that  frail  vessel  lay, 
The  famished  wolf  that  prowls  the  wold 
Had  scathless  passed  the  unguarded  fold, 
Ere,  drifting  by  these  galleys  bold, 

Unchallenged  were  her  way ! 
And  thou,  Lord  Ronald,  sweep  thou  on 
With  mirth  and  pride  and  minstrel  tone! 
But  hadst  thou  known  who  sailed  so  nigh, 
Far  other  glance  were  in  thine  eye! 
Far  other  flush  were  on  thy  brow, 
That,  shaded  by  the  bonnet,  now 
Assumes  but  ill  the  blithesome  cheer 
Of  bridegroom  when  the  bride  is  near! 

XVII 

Yes,  sweep  they  on !  —  We  will  not  leave, 
For  them  that  triumph,  those  that  grieve. 

With  that  armada  gay 
Be  laughter  loud  and  jocund  shout, 
And  bards  to  cheer  the  wassail  rout 

With  tale,  romance,  and  lay; 
And  of  wild  mirth  each  clamorous  art, 
246 


THE  LORD   OF  THE  ISLES 

Which,  if  it  cannot  cheer  the  heart, 
May  stupefy  and  stun  its  smart 

For  one  loud  busy  day. 
Yes,  sweep  they  on!  —  But  with  that  skiff 

Abides  the  minstrel  tale, 
Where  there  was  dread  of  surge  and  cliff, 
Labour  that  strained  each  sinew  stiff, 

And  one  sad  maiden's  wail. 


XVIII 

All  day  with  fruitless  strife  they  toiled, 
With  eve  the  ebbing  currents  boiled. 

More  fierce  from  strait  and  lake ; 
And  midway  through  the  channel  met 
Conflicting  tides  that  foam  and  fret, 
And  high  their  mingled  billows  jet, 
As  spears  that  in  the  battle  set 

Spring  upward  as  they  break. 
Then  too  the  lights  of  eve  were  past, 
And  louder  sung  the  western  blast 

On  rocks  of  Inninmore; 
Rent  was  the  sail,  and  strained  the  mast, 
And  many  a  leak  was  gaping  fast, 
And  the  pale  steersman  stood  aghast 

And  gave  the  conflict  o'er. 

247 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

XIX 

*T  was  then  that  One  whose  lofty  look 
Nor  labour  dulled  nor  terror  shook 

Thus  to  the  leader  spoke ;  — 
'Brother,  how  hop'st  thou  to  abide 
The  fury  of  this  'wildered  tide, 
Or  how  avoid  the  rock's  rude  side 

Until  the  day  has  broke? 
Didst  thou  not  mark  the  vessel  reel 
With  quivering  planks  and  groaning  keel 

At  the  last  billow's  shock? 
Yet  how  of  better  counsel  tell, 
Though  here  thou  see'st  poor  Isabel 

Half  dead  with  want  and  fear; 
For  look  on  sea,  or  look  on  land, 
Or  yon  dark  sky,  on  every  hand 

Despair  and  death  are  near. 
For  her  alone  I  grieve  —  on  me 
Danger  sits  light  by  land  and  sea, 

I  follow  where  thou  wilt; 
Either  to  bide  the  tempest's  lour, 
Or  wend  to  yon  unfriendly  tower. 
Or  rush  amid  their  naval  power. 
With  war-cry  wake  their  wassail-hour. 

And  die  with  hand  on  hilt.' 

248 


I 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

XX 

That  elder  leader's  calm  reply 

In  steady  voice  was  given, 
*  In  man's  most  dark  extremity 

Oft  succour  dawns  from  heaven. 
Edward,  trim  thou  the  shattered  sail, 
The  helm  be  mine,  and  down  the  gale 

Let  our  free  course  be  driven ; 
So  shall  we  'scape  the  western  bay, 
The  hostile  fleet,  the  unequal  fray, 
So  safely  hold  our  vessel's  way 

Beneath  the  castle  wall ; 
For  if  a  hope  of  safety  rest, 
'T  is  on  the  sacred  name  of  guest. 
Who  seeks  for  shelter  storm-distressed 

Within  a  chieftain's  hall. 
If  not  —  it  best  beseems  our  worth, 
Our  name,  our  right,  our  lofty  birth, 

By  noble  hands  to  fall.' 

XXI 

The  helm,  to  his  strong  arm  consigned. 
Gave  the  reefed  sail  to  meet  the  wind. 

And  on  her  altered  way 
Fierce  bounding  forward  sprung  the  ship, 
Like  greyhound  starting  from  the  slip 

To  seize  his  flying  prey. 
249 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Awaked  before  the  rushing  prow 
The  mimic  fires  of  ocean  glow/ 

Those  lightnings  of  the  wave; 
Wild  sparkles  crest  the  broken  tides, 
And  flashing  round  the  vessel's  sides 

With  elfish  lustre  lave, 
While  far  behind  their  livid  light 
To  the  dark  billows  of  the  night 

A  gloomy  splendour  gave, 
It  seems  as  if  old  Ocean  shakes 
From  his  dark  brow  the  lucid  flakes 

In  envious  pageantry, 
To  match  the  meteor-light  that  streaks 

Grim  Hecla's  midnight  sky. 

XXII 

Nor  lacked  they  steadier  light  to  keep 
Their  course  upon  the  darkened  deep ;  — 
Artornish,  on  her  frowning  steep 

'Twixt  cloud  and  ocean  hung, 
Glanced  with  a  thousand  lights  of  glee, 
And  landward  far,  and  far  to  sea 

Her  festal  radiance  flung. 
By  that  blithe  beacon-light  they  steered, 

Whose  lustre  mingled  well 
With  the  pale  beam  that  now  appeared, 

'  See  Note  75. 
250 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

As  the  cold  moon  her  head  upreared 
Above  the  eastern  fell. 

XXIII 

Thus  guided,  on  their  course  they  bore 
Until  they  neared  the  mainland  shore, 
When  frequent  on  the  hollow  blast 
Wild  shouts  of  merriment  were  cast. 
And  wind  and  wave  and  sea-birds'  cry 
With  wassail  sounds  in  concert  vie, 
Like  funeral  shrieks  with  revelry. 

Or  like  the  battle-shout 
By  peasants  heard  from  clifTs  on  high 
When  Triumph,  Rage,  and  Agony 

Madden  the  fight  and  rout. 
Now  nearer  yet  through  mist  and  storm 
Dimly  arose  the  castle's  form 

And  deepened  shadow  made, 
Far  lengthened  on  the  main  below, 
Where  dancing  in  reflected  glow 

A  hundred  torches  played, 
Spangling  the  wave  with  lights  as  vain 
As  pleasures  in  this  vale  of  pain, 

That  dazzle  as  they  fade. 

XXIV 

Beneath  the  castle's  sheltering  lee 
They  staid  their  course  in  quiet  sea. 

251 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Hewn  in  the  rock,  a  passage  there 
Sought  the  dark  fortress  by  a  stair/ 

So  strait,  so  high,  so  steep. 
With  peasant's  staff  one  valiant  hand 
Might  well  the  dizzy  pass  have  manned 
'Gainst  hundreds  armed  with  spear  and  brand 

And  plunged  them  in  the  deep. 
His  bugle  then  the  helmsman  wound : 
Loud  answered  every  echo  round 

From  turret,  rock,  and  bay; 
The  postern's  hinges  crash  and  groan, 
And  soon  the  warder's  cresset  shone 
On  those  rude  steps  of  slippery  stone, 

To  light  the  upward  way. 
'Thrice  welcome,  holy  Sire!'  he  said; 
'Full  long  the  spousal  train  have  staid, 

And,  vexed  at  thy  delay, 
Feared  lest  amidst  these  'wildering  seas 
The  darksome  night  and  freshening  breeze 

Had  driven  thy  bark  astray.'  — 

XXV 

'Warder,'  the  younger  stranger  said, 
'Thine  erring  guess  some  mirth  had  made 
In  mirthful  hour;  but  nights  like  these, 
When  the  rough  winds  wake  western  seas, 

•  See  Note  76. 
252 


THE  LORD   OF  THE  ISLES 

Brook  not  of  glee.  We  crave  some  aid 
And  needful  shelter  for  this  maid 

Until  the  break  of  day ; 
For  to  ourselves  the  deck's  rude  plank 
Is  easy  as  the  mossy  bank 

That's  breathed  upon  by  May. 
And  for  our  storm-tossed  skiff  we  seek 
Short  shelter  in  this  leeward  creek, 
Prompt  when  the  dawn  the  east  shall  streak 

Again  to  bear  away.' 
Answered  the  warder,  '  In  what  name 
Assert  ye  hospitable  claim? 

Whence  come  or  whither  bound? 
Hath  Erin  seen  your  parting  sails, 
Or  come  ye  on  Norweyan  gales? 
And  seek  ye  England's  fertile  vales, 

Or  Scotland's  mountain  ground?* 


XXVI 

'Warriors  —  for  other  title  none 
For  some  brief  space  we  list  to  own, 
Bound  by  a  vow  —  warriors  are  we ; 
In  strife  by  land  and  storm  by  sea 

We  have  been  known  to  fame; 
And  these  brief  words  have  import  dear, 
When  sounded  in  a  noble  ear, 
253 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

To  harbour  safe  and  friendly  cheer 

That  gives  us  rightful  claim. 
Grant  us  the  trivial  boon  we  seek, 
And  we  in  other  realms  will  speak 

Fair  of  your  courtesy; 
Deny  —  and  be  your  niggard  hold 
Scorned  by  the  noble  and  the  bold, 
Shunned  by  the  pilgrim  on  the  wold 

And  wanderer  on  the  lea!' 

XXVII 

*  Bold  stranger,  no  —  'gainst  claim  like  thine 
No  bolt  revolves  by  hand  of  mine, 
Though  urged  in  tone  that  more  expressed 
A  monarch  than  a  suppliant  guest. 
Be  what  ye  will,  Artornish  Hall 
On  this  glad  eve  is  free  to  all. 
Though  ye  had  drawn  a  hostile  sword 
'Gainst  our  ally,  great  England's  Lord, 
Or  mail  upon  your  shoulders  borne 
To  battle  with  the  Lord  of  Lorn, 
Or  outlawed  dwelt  by  greenwood  tree 
With  the  fierce  Knight  of  Ellerslie, 
Or  aided  even  the  murderous  strife 
When  Comyn  fell  beneath  the  knife 
Of  that  fell  homicide  the  Bruce, 
This  night  had  been  a  term  of  truce.  — 
2S4 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Ho,  vassals!  give  these  guests  your  care, 
And  show  the  narrow  postern  stair.* 

XXVIII 

To  land  these  two  bold  brethren  leapt  — 
The  weary  crew  their  vessel  kept  — 
And,  lighted  by  the  torches'  flare 
That  seaward  flung  their  smoky  glare, 
The  younger  knight  that  maiden  bare 

Half  lifeless  up  the  rock; 
On  his  strong  shoulder  leaned  her  head, 
And  down  her  long  dark  tresses  shed. 
As  the  wild  vine  in  tendrils  spread 

Droops  from  the  mountain  oak. 
Him  followed  close  that  elder  lord. 
And  in  his  hand  a  sheathed  sword 

Such  as  few  arms  could  wield ; 
But  when  he  bouned  him  to  such  task 
Well  could  it  cleave  the  strongest  casque 

And  rend  the  surest  shield. 

XXIX 

The  raised  portcullis'  arch  they  pass. 
The  wicket  with  its  bars  of  brass, 

The  entrance  long  and  low, 
Flanked  at  each  turn  by  loopholes  strait, 

2SS 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Where  bowmen  might  in  ambush  wait  — 
If  force  or  fraud  should  burst  the  gate  — 

To  gall  an  entering  foe. 
But  every  jealous  post  of  ward 
Was  now  defenceless  and  unbarred, 

And  all  the  passage  free 
To  one  low-browed  and  vaulted  room 
Where  squire  and  yeoman,  page  and  groom, 

Plied  their  loud  revelry. 


XXX 

And  '  Rest  ye  here,'  the  warder  bade, 
*Till  to  our  lord  your  suit  is  said.  — 
And,  comrades,  gaze  not  on  the  maid 
And  on  these  men  who  ask  our  aid, 

As  if  ye  ne'er  had  seen 
A  damsel  tired  of  midnight  bark 
Or  wanderers  of  a  moulding  stark 

And  bearing  martial  mien.* 
But  not  for  Eachin's  reproof 
Would  page  or  vassal  stand  aloof, 

But  crowded  on  to  stare. 
As  men  of  courtesy  untaught. 
Till  Fiery  Edward  roughly  caught 

From  one  the  foremost  there 
His  chequered  plaid,  and  in  its  shroud, 
256 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

To  hide  her  from  the  vulgar  crowd, 

Involved  his  sister  fair. 
His  brother,  as  the  clansman  bent 
His  sullen  brow  in  discontent, 

Made  brief  and  stern  excuse : 

'Vassal,  were  thine  the  cloak  of  pall 

That  decks  thy  lord  in  bridal  hall, 

*T  were  honoured  by  her  use.' 

XXXI 

Proud  was  his  tone  but  calm ;  his  eye 

Had  that  compelling  dignity. 

His  mien  that  bearing  haught  and  high, 

Which  common  spirits  fear; 
Needed  nor  word  nor  signal  more, 
Nod,  wink,  and  laughter,  all  were  o'er; 
Upon  each  other  back  they  bore, 

And  gazed  like  startled  deer. 
But  now  appeared  the  seneschal, 
Commissioned  by  his  lord  to  call 
The  strangers  to  the  baron's  hall. 

Where  feasted  fair  and  free 
That  Island  Prince  in  nuptial  tide 
With  Edith  there  his  lovely  bride. 
And  her  bold  brother  by  her  side. 
And  many  a  chief,  the  flower  and  pride 

Of  Western  land  and  sea. 

49  257 


THE  LORD   OF   THE   ISLES 

Here  pause  we,  gentles,  for  a  space; 
And,  if  our  tale  hath  won  your  grace, 
Grant  us  brief  patience  and  again 
We  will  renew  the  minstrel  strain. 


1 


CANTO  SECOND 

I 

Fill  the  bright  goblet,  spread  the  festive  board! 
Summon  the  gay,  the  noble,  and  the  fair! 
Through  the  loud  hall  in  joyous  concert  poured, 
Let  mirth  and  music  sound  the  dirge  of  Care! 
But  ask  thou  not  if  Happiness  be  there, 
If  the  loud  laugh  disguise  convulsive  throe, 
Or  if  the  brow  the  heart's  true  livery  wear; 
Lift  not  the  festal  mask !  —  enough  to  know, 
No  scene  of  mortal  life  but  teems  with  mortal  woe. 

II 

With  beakers'  clang,  with  harpers'  lay, 
With  all  that  olden  time  deemed  gay, 
The  Island  Chieftain  feasted  high; 
But  there  was  in  his  troubled  eye 
A  gloomy  fire,  and  on  his  brow 
Now  sudden  flushed  and  faded  now 
Emotions  such  as  draw  their  birth 
From  deeper  source  than  festal  mirth. 
By  fits  he  paused,  and  harper's  strain 
And  jester's  tale  went  round  in  vain, 
Or  fell  but  on  his  idle  ear 
259 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Like  distant  sounds  which  dreamers  hear. 
Then  would  he  rouse  him,  and  employ 
Each  art  to  aid  the  clamorous  joy, 

And  call  for  pledge  and  lay, 
And,  for  brief  space,  of  all  the  crowd, 
As  he  was  loudest  of  the  loud. 

Seemed  gayest  of  the  gay. 


Ill 

Yet  nought  amiss  the  bridal  throng 
Marked  in  brief  mirth  or  musing  long; 
The  vacant  brow,  the  unlistening  ear, 
They  gave  to  thoughts  of  raptures  near, 
And  his  fierce  starts  of  sudden  glee 
Seemed  bursts  of  bridegroom's  ecstasy. 
Nor  thus  alone  misjudged  the  crowd. 
Since  lofty  Lorn,  suspicious,  proud, 
And  jealous  of  his  honoured  line, 
And  that  keen  knight,  De  Argentine  *  — 
From  England  sent  on  errand  high 
The  western  league  more  firm  to  tie  — 
Both  deemed  in  Ronald's  mood  to  find 
A  lover's  transport-troubled  mind. 
But  one  sad  heart,  one  tearful  eye. 
Pierced  deeper  through  the  mystery, 

>  See  Note  77. 
260 


THE  LORD   OF  THE  ISLES 

And  watched  with  agony  and  fear 

Her  wayward  bridegroom's  varied  cheer. 

IV 

She  watched  —  yet  feared  to  meet  his  glance, 
And  he  shunned  hers ;  —  till  when  by  chance 
They  met,  the  point  of  foeman's  lance 

Had  given  a  milder  pang! 
Beneath  the  intolerable  smart 
He  writhed ;  —  then  sternly  manned  his  heart 
To  play  his  hard  but  destined  part, 

And  from  the  table  sprang. 
'Fill  me  the  mighty  cup,'  he  said,^ 
'  Erst  owned  by  royal  Somerled ! 
Fill  it,  till  on  the  studded  brim 
In  burning  gold  the  bubbles  swim, 
And  every  gem  of  varied  shine 
Glow  doubly  bright  in  rosy  wine ! 

To  you,  brave  lord,  and  brother  mine, 

Of  Lorn,  this  pledge  I  drink  — 
The  Union  of  Our  House  with  thine, 
By  this  fair  bridal-link!' 


'Let  it  pass  round!'  quoth  he  of  Lorn, 
'And  in  good  time  —  that  winded  horn 

»  See  Note  78. 
261 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Must  of  the  abbot  tell; 
The  laggard  monk  is  come  at  last.' 
Lord  Ronald  heard  the  bugle-blast, 
And  on  the  floor  at  random  cast 

The  untasted  goblet  fell. 
But  when  the  warder  in  his  ear 
Tells  other  news,  his  blither  cheer 

Returns  like  sun  of  May 
When  through  a  thunder-cloud  it  beams! 
Lord  of  two  hundred  isles,  he  seems 

As  glad  of  brief  delay 
As  some  poor  criminal  might  feel 
When  from  the  gibbet  or  the  wheel 

Respited  for  a  day. 

VI 

'Brother  of  Lorn,'  with  hurried  voice 
He  said,  'and  you,  fair  lords,  rejoice! 

Here,  to  augment  our  glee. 
Come  wandering  knights  from  travel  far, 
Well  proved,  they  say,  in  strife  of  war 

And  tempest  on  the  sea.  — 
Ho !  give  them  at  your  board  such  place 
As  best  their  presences  may  grace, 

And  bid  them  welcome  free ! ' 
With  solemn  step  and  silver  wand, 
The  seneschal  the  presence  scanned 
262 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Of  these  strange  guests,  and  well  he  knew 
How  to  assign  their  rank  its  due ;  ^ 

For  though  the  costly  furs 
That  erst  had  decked  their  caps  were  torn, 
And  their  gay  robes  were  over-worn, 

And  soiled  their  gilded  spurs. 
Yet  such  a  high  commanding  grace 
Was  in  their  mien  and  in  their  face 
As  suited  best  the  princely  dais 

And  royal  canopy; 
And  there  he  marshalled  them  their  place, 

First  of  that  company. 

« 

VII 

Then  lords  and  ladies  spake  aside, 
And  angry  looks  the  error  chide 
That  gave  to  guests  unnamed,  unknown, 
A  place  so  near  their  prince's  throne ; 

But  Owen  Erraught  said, 
'For  forty  years  a  seneschal. 
To  marshal  guests  in  bower  and  hall 

Has  been  my  honoured  trade. 
Worship  and  birth  to  me  are  known, 
By  look,  by  bearing,  and  by  tone, 
Not  by  furred  robe  or  broidered  zone ; 

And  'gainst  an  oaken  bough 

•  See  Note  79. 
263 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

I  '11  gage  my  silver  wand  of  state 
That  these  three  strangers  oft  have  sate 
In  higher  place  than  now.' 

VIII 

*I  too,'  the  aged  Ferrand  said, 
*Am  qualified  by  minstrel  trade 

Of  rank  and  place  to  tell ;  — 
Marked  ye  the  younger  stranger's  eye. 
My  mates,  how  quick,  how  keen,  how  high, 

How  fierce  its  flashes  fell. 
Glancing  among  the  noble  rout 
As  if  to  seek  the  noblest  out. 
Because  the  owner  might  not  brook 
On  any  save  his  peers  to  look? 

And  yet  it  moves  me  more, 
That  steady,  calm,  majestic  brow, 
With  which  the  elder  chief  even  now 

Scanned  the  gay  presence  o'er. 
Like  being  of  superior  kind, 
In  whose  high-toned  impartial  mind 
Degrees  of  mortal  rank  and  state 
Seem  objects  of  indifferent  weight. 

The  lady  too  —  though  closely  tied 
The  mantle  veil  both  face  and  eye. 

Her  motions'  grace  it  could  not  hide. 
Nor  cloud  her  form's  fair  symmetry.' 
264 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

IX 

Suspicious  doubt  and  lordly  scorn 
Loured  on  the  haughty  front  of  Lorn. 
From  underneath  his  brows  of  pride 
The  stranger  guests  he  sternly  eyed, 
And  whispered  closely  what  the  ear 
Of  Argentine  alone  might  hear; 

Then  questioned,  high  and  brief, 
If  in  their  voyage  aught  they  knew 
Of  the  rebellious  Scottish  crew 
Who  to  Rath-Erin's  shelter  drew 

With  Carrick's  outlawed  Chief?  ^ 
And  if,  their  winter's  exile  o'er, 
They  harbored  still  by  Ulster's  shore, 
Or  launched  their  galleys  on  the  main 
To  vex  their  native  land  again? 

X 

That  younger  stranger,  fierce  and  high, 
At  once  confronts  the  chieftain's  eye 

With  look  of  equal  scorn: 
*  Of  rebels  have  we  nought  to  show ; 
But  if  of  royal  Bruce  thou'dst  know, 

I  warn  thee  he  has  sworn. 
Ere  thrice  three  days  shall  come  and  go, 

»  See  Note  80. 
265 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

His  banner  Scottish  winds  shall  blow, 
Despite  each  mean  or  mighty  foe, 
From  England's  every  bill  and  bow 

To  Allaster  of  Lorn.' 
Kindled  the  mountain  chieftain's  ire, 
But  Ronald  quenched  the  rising  fire: 
'Brother,  it  better  suits  the  time 
To  chase  the  night  with  Ferrand's  rhyme 
Than  wake  'midst  mirth  and  wine  the  jars 
That  flow  from  these  unhappy  wars.' 
'Content,'  said  Lorn;  and  spoke  apart 
With  Ferrand,  master  of  his  art, 

Then  whispered  Argentine, 
'The  lay  I  named  will  carry  smart 
To  these  bold  strangers'  haughty  heart. 

If  right  this  guess  of  mine.' 
He  ceased,  and  it  was  silence  all 
Until  the  minstrel  waked  the  hall. 

XI 

THE   BROOCH   OF  LORN 

'Whence  the  brooch  of  burning  gold* 
That  clasps  the  chieftain's  mantle-fold, 
On  the  varied  tartans  beaming, 
Wrought  and  chased  with  rare  device, 
Studded  fair  with  gems  of  price,^ 

>  See  Note  8r.  •  See  Note  8a. 

266 


THE  LORD   OF  THE  ISLES 

As,  through  night's  pale  rainbow  gleaming, 
Fainter  now,  now  seen  afar, 
Fitful  shines  the  northern  star? 

*Gem!  ne'er  wrought  on  Highland  mountain, 
Did  the  fairy  of  the  fountain 
Or  the  mermaid  of  the  wave 
Frame  thee  in  some  coral  cave? 
Did,  in  Iceland's  darksome  mine, 
Dwarf's  swart  hands  thy  metal  twine? 
Or,  mortal-moulded,  comest  thou  here 
From  England's  love  or  France's  fear? 

XII 
SONG   CONTINUED 

'  No !  —  thy  splendours  nothing  tell 
Foreign  art  or  faery  spell. 
Moulded  thou  for  monarch's  use, 
By  the  overweening  Bruce, 
When  the  royal  robe  he  tied 
O'er  a  heart  of  wrath  and  pride; 
Thence  in  triumph  wert  thou  torn 
By  the  victor  hand  of  Lorn ! 

'When  the  gem  was  won  and  lost, 
Widely  was  the  war-cry  tossed ! 
Rung  aloud  Bendourish  fell, 
267 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Answered  Douchart's  sounding  dell, 
Fled  the  deer  from  wild  Teyndrum, 
When  the  homicide  o'ercome 
Hardly  'scaped  with  scathe  and  scorn, 
Left  the  pledge  with  conquering  Lorn! 

XIII 
SONG  CONCLUDED 

'Vain  was  then  the  Douglas  brand,* 
Vain  the  Campbell's  vaunted  hand, 
Vain  Kirkpatrick's  bloody  dirk,^ 
Making  sure  of  murder's  work; 
Barendown  fled  fast  away, 
Fled  the  fiery  De  la  Haye,' 
When  this  brooch  triumphant  borne 
Beamed  upon  the  breast  of  Lorn. 

'Farthest  fled  its  former  lord, 
Left  his  men  to  brand  and  cord. 
Bloody  brand  of  Highland  steel, 
English  gibbet,  axe,  and  wheel. 
Let  him  fly  from  coast  to  coast. 
Dogged  by  Comyn's  vengeful  ghost, 
While  his  spoils  in  triumph  worn 
Long  shall  grace  victorious  Lorn!' 


*  See  Note  83.  »  See  Note  84.  »  See  Note  8s. 

268 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

iXIV 

As  glares  the  tiger  on  his  foes, 

Hemmed  in  by  hunters,  spears,  and  bows, 

And,  ere  he  bounds  upon  the  ring, 

Selects  the  object  of  his  spring,  — 

Now  on  the  bard,  now  on  his  lord, 

So  Edward  glared  and  grasped  his  sword  — 

But  stern  his  brother  spoke,  '  Be  still. 

What!  art  thou  yet  so  wild  of  will, 

After  high  deeds  and  sufferings  long, 

To  chafe  thee  for  a  menial's  song?  — 

Well  hast  thou  framed,  old  man,  thy  strains, 

To  praise  the  hand  that  pays  thy  pains !  ^ 

Yet  something  might  thy  song  have  told 

Of  Lorn's  three  vassals,  true  and  bold, 

Who  rent  their  lord  from  Bruce's  hold 

As  underneath  his  knee  he  lay. 

And  died  to  save  him  in  the  fray. 

I  Ve  heard  the  Bruce's  cloak  and  clasp 

Was  clenched  within  their  dying  grasp. 

What  time  a  hundred  foemen  more 

Rushed  in  and  back  the  victor  bore, 

Long  after  Lorn  had  left  the  strife, 

Full  glad  to  'scape  with  limb  and  life.  — 

Enough  of  this  —  and,  minstrel,  hold 

»  See  Note  86. 
269 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

As  minstrel-hire  this  chain  of  gold, 

For  future  lays  a  fair  excuse 

To  speak  more  nobly  of  the  Bruce.'  — 


XV 

'Now,  by  Columba's  shrine,  I  swear, 
And  every  saint  that 's  buried  there, 
'T  is  he  himself!'  Lorn  sternly  cries, 

'And  for  my  kinsman's  death  he  dies.' 
As  loudly  Ronald  calls,  '  Forbear ! 
Not  in  my  sight  while  brand  I  wear, 
O'ermatched  by  odds,  shall  warrior  fall, 
Or  blood  of  stranger  stain  my  hall ! 
This  ancient  fortress  of  my  race 
Shall  be  misfortune's  resting-place, 
Shelter  and  shield  of  the  distressed, 
No  slaughter-house  for  shipwrecked  guest.' 

'Talk  not  to  me,'  fierce  Lorn  replied, 

*  Of  odds  or  match !  —  when  Comyn  died, 
Three  daggers  clashed  within  his  side  1 
Talk  not  to  me  of  sheltering  hall. 
The  Church  of  God  saw  Comyn  fall ! 
On  God's  own  altar  streamed  his  blood, 
While  o'er  my  prostrate  kinsman  stood 
The  ruthless  murderer  —  e'en  as  now  — 
With  armed  hand  and  scornful  brow !  — 
270 


THE  LORD   OF  THE  ISLES 

Up,  all  who  love  me!  blow  on  blow! 
And  lay  the  outlawed  felons  low!' 

XVI 

Then  up  sprang  many  a  mainland  lord, 
Obedient  to  their  chieftain's  word. 
Barcaldine's  arm  is  high  in  air, 
And  Kinloch-Alline's  blade  is  bare, 
Black  Murthok's  dirk  has  left  its  sheath, 
And  clenched  is  Dermid's  hand  of  death. 
Their  muttered  threats  of  vengeance  swell 
Into  a  wild  and  warlike  yell ; 
Onward  they  press  with  weapons  high, 
The  affrighted  females  shriek  and  fly, 
And,  Scotland,  then  thy  brightest  ray 
Had  darkened  ere  its  noon  of  day, 
But  every  chief  of  birth  and  fame 
That  from  the  Isles  of  Ocean  came 
At  Ronald's  side  that  hour  withstood 
Fierce  Lorn's  relentless  thirst  for  blood. 

XVII 

Brave  Torquil  from  Dunvegan  high. 
Lord  of  the  misty  hills  of  Skye, 
Mac-Niel,  wild  Bara's  ancient  thane, 
Duart  of  bold  Clan-Gillian's  strain, 
Fergus  of  Canna's  castled  bay, 

271 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Mac-Duffith,  Lord  of  Colonsay, 

Soon  as  they  saw  the  broadswords  glance, 

With  ready  weapons  rose  at  once, 

More  prompt  that  many  an  ancient  feud, 

Full  oft  suppressed,  full  oft  renewed. 

Glowed  'twixt  the  chieftains  of  Argyle, 

And  many  a  lord  of  ocean's  isle. 

Wild  was  the  scene  —  each  sword  was  bare, 

Back  streamed  each  chieftain's  shaggy  hair. 

In  gloomy  opposition  set. 

Eyes,  hands,  and  brandished  weapons  met; 

Blue  gleaming  o'er  the  social  board. 

Flashed  to  the  torches  many  a  sword ; 

And  soon  those  bridal  lights  may  shine 

On  purple  blood  for  rosy  wine. 

XVIII 

While  thus  for  blows  and  death  prepared, 
Each  heart  was  up,  each  weapon  bared, 
Each  foot  advanced,  —  a  surly  pause 
Still  reverenced  hospitable  laws. 
All  menaced  violence,  but  alike 
Reluctant  each  the  first  to  strike  — 
For  aye  accursed  in  minstrel  line 
Is  he  who  brawls  'mid  song  and  wine, 
And,  matched  in  numbers  and  in  might, 
Doubtful  and  desperate  seemed  the  fight. 
272 


I 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Thus  threat  and  murmur  died  away, 
Till  on  the  crowded  hall  there  lay 
Such  silence  as  the  deadly  still 
Ere  bursts  the  thunder  on  the  hill. 
With  blade  advanced,  each  chieftain  bold 
Showed  like  the  Sworder's  form  of  old, 
As  wanting  still  the  torch  of  life 
To  wake  the  marble  into  strife. 

XIX 

That  awful  pause  the  stranger  maid 
And  Edith  seized  to  pray  for  aid. 
As  to  De  Argentine  she  clung, 
Away  her  veil  the  stranger  flung. 
And,  lovely  'mid  her  wild  despair. 
Fast  streamed  her  eyes,  wide  flowed  her  hair: 
*0  thou,  of  knighthood  once  the  flower, 
Sure  refuge  in  distressful  hour. 
Thou  who  in  Judah  well  hast  fought 
For  our  dear  faith  and  oft  hast  sought 
Renown  in  knightly  exercise 
When  this  poor  hand  has  dealt  the  prize, 
Say,  can  thy  soul  of  honour  brook 
On  the  unequal  strife  to  look. 
When,  butchered  thus  in  peaceful  hall, 
Those  once  thy  friends,  my  brethren,  fall!* 
To  Argentine  she  turned  her  word, 

49  273 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

But  her  eye  sought  the  Island  Lord. 
A  flush  like  evening's  setting  flame 
Glowed  on  his  cheek ;  his  hardy  frame 
As  with  a  brief  convulsion  shook: 
With  hurried  voice  and  eager  look, 
'Fear  not,'  he  said,  'my  Isabel! 
What  said  I  —  Edith !  —  all  is  well  — 
Nay,  fear  not  —  I  will  well  provide 
The  safety  of  my  lovely  bride  — 
My  bride?'  —  but  there  the  accents  clung 
In  tremor  to  his  faltering  tongue. 

XX 

Now  rose  De  Argentine  to  claim 
The  prisoners  in  his  sovereign's  name 
To  England's  crown,  who,  vassals  sworn, 
'Gainst  their  liege  lord  had  weapon  borne  — 
Such  speech,  I  ween,  was  but  to  hide 
His  care  their  safety  to  provide ; 
For  knight  more  true  in  thought  and  deed 
Than  Argentine  ne'er  spurred  a  steed  — 
And  Ronald  who  his  meaning  guessed 
Seemed  half  to  sanction  the  request. 
This  purpose  fiery  Torquil  broke: 
'Somewhat  we've  heard  of  England's  yoke,* 
He  said,  'and  in  our  islands  Fame 
Hath  whispered  of  a  lawful  claim 
274 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

That  calls  the  Bruce  fair  Scotland's  lord, 
Though  dispossessed  by  foreign  sword. 
This  craves  reflection  —  but  though  right 
And  just  the  charge  of  England's  Knight, 
Let  England's  crown  her  rebels  seize 
Where  she  has  power ;  —  in  towers  like  these, 
'Midst  Scottish  chieftains  summoned  here 
To  bridal  mirth  and  bridal  cheer, 
Be  sure,  with  no  consent  of  mine 
Shall  either  Lorn  or  Argentine 
With  chains  or  violence,  in  our  sight, 
Oppress  a  brave  and  banished  knight.* 


XXI 

Then  waked  the  wild  debate  again 
With  brawling  threat  and  clamour  vain. 
Vassals  and  menials  thronging  in 
Lent  their  brute  rage  to  swell  the  din; 
When  far  and  wide  a  bugle-clang 
From  the  dark  ocean  upward  rang. 
'  The  abbot  comes ! '  they  cry  at  once, 
'The  holy  man,  whose  favoured  glance 
Hath  sainted  visions  known ; 
Angels  have  met  him  on  the  way, 
Beside  the  blessed  martyr's  bay, 
And  by  Columba's  stone. 
275 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

His  monks  have  heard  their  hymnings  high 
Sound  from  the  summit  of  Dun-Y, 

To  cheer  his  penance  lone, 
When  at  each  cross,  on  girth  and  wold  — 
Their  number  thrice  a  hundred-fold  — 
His  prayer  he  made,  his  beads  he  told, 

With  Aves  many  a  one  — 
He  comes  our  feuds  to  reconcile, 
A  sainted  man  from  sainted  isle; 
We  will  his  holy  doom  abide. 
The  abbot  shall  our  strife  decide.' 


XXII 

Scarcely  this  fair  accord  was  o'er 
When  through  the  wide  revolving  door 

The  black-stoled  brethren  wind ; 
Twelve  sandalled  monks  who  relics  bore, 
With  many  a  torch-bearer  before 

And  many  a  cross  behind. 
Then  sunk  each  fierce  uplifted  hand. 
And  dagger  bright  and  flashing  brand 

Dropped  swiftly  at  the  sight ; 
They  vanished  from  the  Churchman's  eye. 
As  shooting  stars  that  glance  and  die 

Dart  from  the  vault  of  night. 


276 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

XXIII 

The  abbot  on  the  threshold  stood, 

And  in  his  hand  the  holy  rood ; 

Back  on  his  shoulders  flowed  his  hood, 

The  torch's  glaring  ray 
Showed  in  its  red  and  flashing  light 
His  withered  cheek  and  amice  white, 
His  blue  eye  glistening  cold  and  bright, 

His  tresses  scant  and  grey. 
'Fair  Lords,'  he  said,  'Our  Lady's  love, 
And  peace  be  with  you  from  above, 

And  Benedicite !  — 
But  what  means  this?  —  no  peace  is  here! 
Do  dirks  unsheathed  suit  bridal  cheer? 

Or  are  these  naked  brands 
A  seemly  show  for  Churchman's  sight 
When  he  comes  summoned  to  unite 

Betrothed  hearts  and  hands?' 

XXIV 
Then,  cloaking  hate  with  fiery  zeal, 
Proud  Lorn  first  answered  the  appeal: 

'Thou  com'st,  O  holy  man, 
True  sons  of  blessed  church  to  greet, 
But  little  deeming  here  to  meet 
A  wretch  beneath  the  ban 
277 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Of  Pope  and  Church  for  murder  done 
Even  on  the  sacred  altar-stone  — 
Well  mayst  thou  wonder  we  should  know 
Such  miscreant  here,  nor  lay  him  low, 
Or  dream  of  greeting,  peace,  or  truce, 
With  excommunicated  Bruce! 
Yet  well  I  grant,  to  end  debate, 
Thy  sainted  voice  decide  his  fate.' 


XXV 

Then  Ronald  pled  the  stranger's  cause, 
And  knighthood's  oath  and  honour's  laws; 
And  Isabel  on  bended  knee 
Brought  prayers  and  tears  to  back  the  plea; 
And  Edith  lent  her  generous  aid, 
And  wept,  and  Lorn  for  mercy  prayed. 
'Hence,'  he  exclaimed,  'degenerate  maid! 
Was  't  not  enough  to  Ronald's  bower  ^ 
I  brought  thee,  like  a  paramour. 
Or  bond-maid  at  her  master's  gate, 
His  careless  cold  approach  to  wait? 
But  the  bold  Lord  of  Cumberland, 
The  gallant  Clifford,  seeks  thy  hand; 
His  it  shall  be  —  Nay,  no  reply! 
Hence  I  till  those  rebel  eyes  be  dry.* 

»  See  Note  87. 
278 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

With  grief  the  abbot  heard  and  saw, 
Yet  nought  relaxed  his  brow  of  awe. 

XXVI 

Then  Argentine,  in  England's  name, 
So  highly  urged  his  sovereign's  claim 
He  waked  a  spark  that  long  suppressed 
Had  smouldered  in  Lord  Ronald's  breast; 
And  now,  as  from  the  flint  the  fire. 
Flashed  forth  at  once  his  generous  ire. 
'Enough  of  noble  blood,'  he  said, 
*By  English  Edward  had  been  shed, 
Since  matchless  Wallace  first  had  been 
In  mockery  crowned  with  wreaths  of  green,* 
And  done  to  death  by  felon  hand 
For  guarding  well  his  father's  land. 
Where's  Nigel  Bruce?  and  De  la  Haye, 
And  valiant  Seton  —  where  are  they? 
Where  Somerville,  the  kind  and  free? 
And  Eraser,  flower  of  chivalry?'^ 
Have  they  not  been  on  gibbet  bound. 
Their  quarters  flung  to  hawk  and  hound, 
And  hold  we  here  a  cold  debate 
To  yield  more  victims  to  their  fate? 
What!  can  the  English  Leopard's  mood 
Never  be  gorged  with  northern  blood? 

>  See  Note  88.  *  See  Note  89. 

279 


THE  LORD   OF  THE  ISLES 

Was  not  the  life  of  Athole  shed  ^ 

To  soothe  the  tyrant's  sickened  bed? 

And  must  his  word  till  dying  day 

Be  nought  but  quarter,  hang,  and  slay!  ^  — 

Thou  frown 'st,  De  Argentine,  —  my  gage 

Is  prompt  to  prove  the  strife  I  wage.' 

XXVII 

*Nor  deem,'  said  stout  Dunvegan's  knight, 
'That  thou  shalt  brave  alone  the  fight! 
By  saints  of  isle  and  mainland  both, 
By  Woden  wild  —  my  grandsire's  oath '  — 
Let  Rome  and  England  do  their  worst, 
Howe'er  attainted  or  accursed, 
If  Bruce  shall  e'er  find  friends  again 
Once  more  to  brave  a  battle-plain, 
If  Douglas  couch  again  his  lance, 
Or  Randolph  dare  another  chance. 
Old  Torquil  will  not  be  to  lack 
With  twice  a  thousand  at  his  back.  — 
Nay,  chafe  not  at  my  bearing  bold. 
Good  abbot!  for  thou  know'st  of  old, 
Torquil 's  rude  thought  and  stubborn  will 
Smack  of  the  wild  Norwegian  still ; 
Nor  will  I  barter  Freedom's  cause 
For  England's  wealth  or  Rome's  applause.' 

•  See  Note  90.  '  See  Note  91.  '  See  Note  pa. 

280 


1 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

XXVIII 

The  abbot  seemed  with  eye  severe 
The  hardy  chieftain's  speech  to  hear; 
Then  on  King  Robert  turned  the  monk, 
But  twice  his  courage  came  and  sunk, 
Confronted  with  the  hero's  look; 
Twice  fell  his  eye,  his  accents  shook; 
At  length,  resolved  in  tone  and  brow, 
Sternly  he  questioned  him  —  'And  thou, 
Unhappy!  what  hast  thou  to  plead, 
Why  I  denounce  not  on  thy  deed 
That  awful  doom  which  canons  tell 
Shuts  paradise  and  opens  hell ; 
Anathema  of  power  so  dread 
It  blends  the  living  with  the  dead, 
Bids  each  good  angel  soar  away 
And  every  ill  one  claim  his  prey; 
Expels  thee  from  the  Church's  care 
And  deafens  Heaven  against  thy  prayer; 
Arms  every  hand  against  thy  life, 
Bans  all  who  aid  thee  in  the  strife, 
Nay,  each  whose  succour,  cold  and  scant, 
With  meanest  alms  relieves  thy  want; 
Haunts  thee  while  living,  —  and  when  dead 
Dwells  on  thy  yet  devoted  head, 
Rends  Honour's  scutcheon  from  thy  hearse, 
281 


THE  LORD   OF  THE  ISLES 

Stills  o'er  thy  bier  the  holy  verse, 

And  spurns  thy  corpse  from  hallowed  ground, 

Flung  like  vile  carrion  to  the  hound ; 

Such  is  the  dire  and  desperate  doom 

For  sacrilege,  decreed  by  Rome: 

And  such  the  well-deserved  meed 

Of  thine  unhallowed,  ruthless  deed.' 

XXIX 

'Abbot!'  the  Bruce  replied,  'thy  charge 
It  boots  not  to  dispute  at  large. 
This  much,  howe'er,  I  bid  thee  know. 
No  selfish  vengeance  dealt  the  blow. 
For  Gomyn  died  his  country's  foe. 
Nor  blame  I  friends  whose  ill-timed  speed 
Fulfilled  my  soon-repented  deed, 
Nor  censure  those  from  whose  stern  tongue 
The  dire  anathema  has  rung. 
I  only  blame  mine  own  wild  ire. 
By  Scotland's  wrongs  incensed  to  fire. 
Heaven  knows  my  purpose  to  atone, 
Far  as  I  may,  the  evil  done, 
And  hears  a  penitent's  appeal 
From  papal  curse  and  prelate's  zeal. 
My  first  and  dearest  task  achieved, 
Fair  Scotland  from  her  thrall  relieved, 
Shall  many  a  priest  in  cope  and  stole 
282 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Say  requiem  for  Red  Corny n's  soul, 

While  I  the  blessed  cross  advance 

And  expiate  this  unhappy  chance 

In  Palestine  with  sword  and  lance.* 

But,  while  content  the  Church  should  know 

My  conscience  owns  the  debt  I  owe, 

Unto  De  Argentine  and  Lorn 

The  name  of  traitor  I  return, 

Bid  them  defiance  stern  and  high. 

And  give  them  in  their  throats  the  lie! 

These  brief  words  spoke,  I  speak  no  more. 

Do  what  thou  wilt;  my  shrift  is  o'er.* 

XXX 

Like  man  by  prodigy  amazed. 
Upon  the  king  the  abbot  gazed ; 
Then  o'er  his  pallid  features  glance 
Convulsions  of  ecstatic  trance. 
His  breathing  came  more  thick  and  fast, 
And  from  his  pale  blue  eyes  were  cast 
Strange  rays  of  wild  and  wandering  light; 
Uprise  his  locks  of  silver  white, 
Flushed  is  his  brow,  through  every  vein 
In  azure  tide  the  currents  strain, 
And  undistinguished  accents  broke 
The  awful  silence  ere  he  spoke. 

•  See  Note  93. 
283 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

XXXI 

*De  Bruce!  I  rose  with  purpose  dread* 
To  speak  my  curse  upon  thy  head, 
And  give  thee  as  an  outcast  o'er 
To  him  who  burns  to  shed  thy  gore ;  — 
But,  like  the  Midianite  of  old 
Who  stood  on  Zophim,  Heaven-controlled, 
I  feel  within  mine  aged  breast 
A  power  that  will  not  be  repressed.^ 
It  prompts  my  voice,  it  swells  my  veins, 
It  burns,  it  maddens,  it  constrains!  — 
De  Bruce,  thy  sacrilegious  blow 
Hath  at  God's  altar  slain  thy  foe: 
O'ermastered  yet  by  high  behest, 
I  bless  thee,  and  thou  shalt  be  blessed !  * 
He  spoke,  and  o'er  the  astonished  throng 
Was  silence,  awful,  deep,  and  long. 

XXXII 

Again  that  light  has  fired  his  eye, 
Again  his  form  swells  bold  and  high, 
The  broken  voice  of  age  is  gone, 
'Tis  vigorous  manhood's  lofty  tone: 
'Thrice  vanquished  on  the  battle-plain, 
Thy  followers  slaughtered,  fled,  or  ta'en, 

•  See  Note  94.  *  See  Note  95. 

284 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

A  hunted  wanderer  on  the  wild, 

On  foreign  shores  a  man  exiled/ 

Disowned,  deserted,  and  distressed, 

I  bless  thee,  and  thou  shalt  be  blessed! 

Blessed  in  the  hall  and  in  the  field, 

Under  the  mantle  as  the  shield. 

Avenger  of  thy  country's  shame, 

Restorer  of  her  injured  fame, 

Blessed  in  thy  sceptre  and  thy  sword, 

De  Bruce,  fair  Scotland's  rightful  lord, 

Blessed  in  thy  deeds  and  in  thy  fame, 

What  lengthened  honours  wait  thy  name! 

In  distant  ages  sire  to  son 

Shall  tell  thy  tale  of  freedom  won, 

And  teach  his  infants  in  the  use 

Of  earliest  speech  to  falter  Bruce. 

Go,  then,  triumphant!  sweep  along 

Thy  course,  the  theme  of  many  a  song! 

The  Power  whose  dictates  swell  my  breast 

Hath  blessed  thee,  and  thou  shalt  be  blessed! 

Enough  —  my  short-lived  strength  decays, 

And  sinks  the  momentary  blaze,  — 

Heaven  hath  our  destined  purpose  broke, 

Not  here  must  nuptial  vow  be  spoke; 

Brethren,  our  errand  here  is  o'er, 

Our  task  discharged.  —  Unmoor,  unmoor!* 

*  See  Note  96. 
28s 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

His  priests  received  the  exhausted  monk, 
As  breathless  in  their  arms  he  sunk. 
Punctual  his  orders  to  obey, 
The  train  refused  all  longer  stay, 
Embarked,  raised  sail,  and  bore  away. 


CANTO  THIRD 

I 

Hast  thou  not  marked  when  o'er  thy  startled  head 
Sudden  and  deep  the  thunder-peal  has  rolled, 
How,  when  its  echoes  fell,  a  silence  dead 
Sunk  on  the  wood,  the  meadow,  and  the  wold? 
The  rye-grass  shakes  not  on  the  sod-built  fold, 
The  rustling  aspen's  leaves  are  mute  and  still, 
The  wall-flower  waves  not  on  the  ruined  hold, 
Till,  murmuring  distant  first,  then  near  and  shrill, 
The  savage  whirlwind  wakes  and  sweeps  the  groaning 
hill. 

II 

Artornish !  such  a  silence  sunk 

Upon  thy  halls,  when  that  grey  monk 

His  prophet-speech  had  spoke; 
And  his  obedient  brethren's  sail 
Was  stretched  to  meet  the  southern  gale 

Before  a  whisper  woke. 
Then  murmuring  sounds  of  doubt  and  fear, 
Close  poured  in  many  an  anxious  ear, 

The  solemn  stillness  broke; 
287 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

And  still  they  gazed  with  eager  guess 

Where  in  an  oriel's  deep  recess 

The  Island  Prince  seemed  bent  to  press 

What  Lorn,  by  his  impatient  cheer 

And  gesture  fierce,  scarce  deigned  to  hear. 


Ill 

Starting  at  length  with  frowning  look, 
His  hand  he  clenched,  his  head  he  shook, 

And  sternly  flung  apart: 
'And  deem'st  thou  me  so  mean  of  mood 
As  to  forget  the  mortal  feud, 
And  clasp  the  hand  with  blood  imbrued 

From  my  dear  kinsman's  heart? 
Is  this  thy  rede?  —  a  due  return 
For  ancient  league  and  friendship  sworn! 
But  well  our  mountain  proverb  shows 
The  faith  of  Islesmen  ebbs  and  flows. 
Be  it  even  so  —  believe  ere  long 
He  that  now  bears  shall  wreak  the  wrong. 
Call  Edith  —  call  the  Maid  of  Lorn! 
My  sister,  slaves!  —  for  further  scorn. 
Be  sure  nor  she  nor  I  will  stay.  — 
Away,  De  Argentine,  away!  — 
We  nor  ally  nor  brother  know 
In  Bruce's  friend  or  England's  foe.* 
288 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

IV 

But  who  the  chieftain's  rage  can  tell 
When,  sought  from  lowest  dungeon  cell 
To  highest  tower  the  castle  round, 
No  Lady  Edith  was  there  found ! 
He  shouted,  'Falsehood!  —  treachery!  — 
Revenge  and  blood !  —  a  lordly  meed 
To  him  that  will  avenge  the  deed  I 
A  baron's  lands!'  —  His  frantic  mood 
Was  scarcely  by  the  news  withstood 
That  Morag  shared  his  sister's  flight, 
And  that  in  hurry  of  the  night, 
'Scaped  noteless  and  without  remark, 
Two  strangers  sought  the  abbot's  bark.  — 
'Man  every  galley!  —  fly  —  pursue! 
The  priest  his  treachery  shall  rue! 
Aye,  and  the  time  shall  quickly  come 
When  we  shall  hear  the  thanks  that  Rome 
Will  pay  his  feigned  prophecy ! ' 
Such  was  fierce  Lorn's  indignant  cry; 
And  Cormac  Doil  in  haste  obeyed, 
Hoisted  his  sail,  his  anchor  weighed  — 
For,  glad  of  each  pretext  for  spoil, 
A  pirate  sworn  was  Cormac  Doil.^ 
But  others,  lingering,  spoke  apart, 

•  See  Note  97. 
49  2S9 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

'The  maid  has  given  her  maiden  heart 

To  Ronald  of  the  Isles, 
And,  fearful  lest  her  brother's  word 
Bestow  her  on  that  English  lord, 

She  seeks  lona's  piles, 
And  wisely  deems  it  best  to  dwell 
A  votaress  in  the  holy  cell 
Until  these  feuds  so  fierce  and  fell 

The  abbot  reconciles.' 


V 

As,  impotent  of  ire,  the  hall 
Echoed  to  Lorn's  impatient  call  — 
*My  horse,  my  mantle,  and  my  train! 
Let  none  who  honours  Lorn  remain!'  — 
Courteous  but  stern,  a  bold  request 
To  Bruce  De  Argentine  expressed : 
'Lord  Earl,'  he  said,  'I  cannot  chuse 
But  yield  such  title  to  the  Bruce, 
Though  name  and  earldom  both  are  gone 
Since  he  braced  rebel's  armour  on  — 
But,  earl  or  serf  —  rude  phrase  was  thine 
Of  late,  and  launched  at  Argentine; 
Such  as  compels  me  to  demand 
Redress  of  honour  at  thy  hand. 
We  need  not  to  each  other  tell 
290 


THE  LORD   OF  THE  ISLES 

That  both  can  wield  their  weapons  well ; 
Then  do  me  but  the  soldier  grace 
This  glove  upon  thy  helm  to  place 

Where  we  may  meet  in  fight ; 
And  I  will  say,  as  still  I  've  said, 
Though  by  ambition  far  misled, 

Thou  art  a  noble  knight.' 


VI 

'And  I,'  the  princely  Bruce  replied, 
'Might  term  it  stain  on  knighthood's  pride 
That  the  bright  sword  of  Argentine 
Should  in  a  tyrant's  quarrel  shine; 

But,  for  your  brave  request. 
Be  sure  the  honoured  pledge  you  gave 
In  every  battle-field  shall  wave 

Upon  my  helmet-crest; 
Believe  that  if  my  hasty  tongue 
Hath  done  thine  honour  causeless  wrong, 

It  shall  be  well  redressed. 
Not  dearer  to  my  soul  was  glove 
Bestowed  in  youth  by  lady's  love 

Than  this  which  thou  hast  given  1 
Thus  then  my  noble  foe  I  greet; 
Health  and  high  fortune  till  we  meet, 
And  then  —  what  pleases  Heaven.' 
291 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

VII 

Thus  parted  they  —  for  now,  with  sound 
Like  waves  rolled  back  from  rocky  ground, 

The  friends  of  Lorn  retire; 
Each  mainland  chieftain  with  his  train 
Draws  to  his  mountain  towers  again, 
Pondering  how  mortal  schemes  prove  vain 

And  mortal  hopes  expire. 
But  through  the  castle  double  guard 
By  Ronald's  charge  kept  wakeful  ward, 
Wicket  and  gate  were  trebly  barred 

By  beam  and  bolt  and  chain ; 
Then  of  the  guests  in  courteous  sort 
He  prayed  excuse  for  mirth  broke  short, 
And  bade  them  in  Artornish  fort 

In  confidence  remain. 
Now  torch  and  menial  tendance  led 
Chieftain  and  knight  to  bower  and  bed, 
And  beads  were  told  and  Aves  said, 

And  soon  they  sunk  away 
Into  such  sleep  as  wont  to  shed 
Oblivion  on  the  weary  head 

After  a  toilsome  day. 


292 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

VIII 

But  soon  uproused,  the  monarch  cried 
To  Edward  slumbering  by  his  side, 

'Awake,  or  sleep  for  aye! 
Even  now  there  jarred  a  secret  door  — 
A  taper-light  gleams  on  the  floor  — 

Up,  Edward!  up,  I  say! 
Some  one  glides  in  like  midnight  ghost  — 
Nay,  strike  not!  't  is  our  noble  host.' 
Advancing  then  his  taper's  flame, 
Ronald  stept  forth,  and  with  him  came 

Dunvegan's  chief  —  each  bent  the  knee 

To  Bruce  in  sign  of  fealty 
And  proffered  him  his  sword, 

And  hailed  him  in  a  monarch's  style 

As  king  of  mainland  and  of  isle 
And  Scotland's  rightful  lord. 
'And  O,'  said  Ronald,  'Owned  of  Heaven! 
Say,  is  my  erring  youth  forgiven. 
By  falsehood's  arts  from  duty  driven, 

Who  rebel  falchion  drew, 
Yet  ever  to  thy  deeds  of  fame, 
Even  while  I  strove  against  thy  claim, 

Paid  homage  just  and  true?'  — 
'Alas!  dear  youth,  the  unhappy  time,' 
Answered  the  Bruce,  '  must  bear  the  crime 
293 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Since,  guiltier  far  than  you, 
Even  I '  —  he  paused ;  for  Falkirk's  woes 
Upon  his  conscious  soul  arose. ^ 
The  chieftain  to  his  breast  he  pressed, 
And  in  a  sigh  concealed  the  rest. 

IX 

They  proffered  aid  by  arms  and  might 
To  repossess  him  in  his  right ; 
But  well  their  counsels  must  be  weighed 
Ere  banners  raised  and  musters  made. 
For  English  hire  and  Lorn's  intrigues 
Bound  many  chiefs  in  southern  leagues. 
In  answer  Bruce  his  purpose  bold 
To  his  new  vassals  frankly  told : 
'The  winter  worn  in  exile  o'er, 
I  longed  for  Carrick's  kindred  shore. 
I  thought  upon  my  native  Ayr 
And  longed  to  see  the  burly  fare 
That  Clifford  makes,  whose  lordly  call 
Now  echoes  through  my  father's  hall. 
But  first  my  course  to  Arran  led 
Where  valiant  Lennox  gathers  head. 
And  on  the  sea  by  tempest  tossed. 
Our  barks  dispersed,  our  purpose  crossed, 
Mine  own,  a  hostile  sail  to  shun, 

»  See  Note  98. 
294 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Far  from  her  destined  course  had  run, 
When  that  wise  will  which  masters  ours 
Compelled  us  to  your  friendly  towers.* 

X 

Then  Torquil  spoke :  '  The  time  craves  speed ! 
We  must  not  linger  in  our  deed, 
But  instant  pray  our  sovereign  liege 
To  shun  the  perils  of  a  siege. 
The  vengeful  Lorn  with  all  his  powers 
Lies  but  too  near  Artornish  towers, 
And  England's  light-armed  vessels  ride 
Not  distant  far  the  waves  of  Clyde, 
Prompt  at  these  tidings  to  unmoor. 
And  sweep  each  strait  and  guard  each  shore. 
Then,  till  this  fresh  alarm  pass  by, 
Secret  and  safe  my  liege  must  lie 
In  the  far  bounds  of  friendly  Skye, 
Torquil  thy  pilot  and  thy  guide.'  — 
'Not  so,  brave  chieftain,'  Ronald  cried; 
'Myself  will  on  my  sovereign  wait, 
And  raise  in  arms  the  men  of  Sleate, 
Whilst  thou,  renowned  where  chiefs  debate, 
Shalt  sway  their  souls  by  council  sage 
And  awe  them  by  thy  locks  of  age.'  — 
'And  if  my  words  in  weight  shall  fail. 
This  ponderous  sword  shall  turn  the  scale.* 
295 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

XI 

*The  scheme,*  said  Bruce,  'contents  me  well; 
Meantime,  't  were  best  that  Isabel 
For  safety  with  my  bark  and  crew 
Again  to  friendly  Erin  drew. 
There  Edward  too  shall  with  her  wend, 
In  need  to  cheer  her  and  defend 
And  muster  up  each  scattered  friend.' 
Here  seemed  it  as  Lord  Ronald's  ear 
Would  other  counsel  gladlier  hear ; 
But,  all  achieved  as  soon  as  planned, 
Both  barks,  in  secret  armed  and  manned, 

From  out  the  haven  bore; 
On  different  voyage  forth  they  ply, 
This  for  the  coast  of  winged  Skye 

And  that  for  Erin's  shore. 

XII 

With  Bruce  and  Ronald  bides  the  tale.  — 
To  favouring  winds  they  gave  the  sail 
Till  Mull's  dark  headlands  scarce  they  knew 
And  Ardnamurchan's  hills  were  blue. 
But  then  the  squalls  blew  close  and  hard, 
And,  fain  to  strike  the  galley's  yard 

And  take  them  to  the  oar, 
With  these  rude  seas  in  weary  plight 
296 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

They  strove  the  livelong  day  and  night, 
Nor  till  the  dawning  had  a  sight 

Of  Skye's  romantic  shore. 
Where  Coolin  stoops  him  to  the  west, 
They  saw  upon  his  shivered  crest 

The  sun's  arising  gleam  ; 
But  such  the  labour  and  delay, 
Ere  they  were  moored  in  Scavigh  bay  — 
For  calmer  heaven  compelled  to  stay  — 

He  shot  a  western  beam. 
Then  Ronald  said,  'If  true  mine  eye, 
These  are  the  savage  wilds  that  lie 
North  of  Strathnardill  and  Dunskye;  ^ 

No  human  foot  comes  here, 
And,  since  these  adverse  breezes  blow. 
If  my  good  liege  love  hunter's  bow. 
What  hinders  that  on  land  we  go 

And  strike  a  mountain-deer? 
"  Allan,  my  page,  shall  with  us  wend; 
A  bow  full  deftly  can  he  bend, 
And,  if  we  meet  a  herd,  may  send 

A  shaft  shall  mend  our  cheer.' 
Then  each  took  bow  and  bolts  in  hand, 
Their  row-boat  launched  and  leapt  to  land, 

And  left  their  skiff  and  train, 
Where  a  wild  stream  with  headlong  shock 

'  See  Note  99. 
297 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Came  brawling  down  its  bed  of  rock 
To  mingle  with  the  main. 

XIII 

Awhile  their  route  they  silent  made, 

As  men  who  stalk  for  mountain-deer, 
Till  the  good  Bruce  to  Ronald  said, 

'Saint  Mary!  what  a  scene  is  here! 
I  've  traversed  many  a  mountain-strand. 
Abroad  and  in  my  native  land, 
And  it  has  been  my  lot  to  tread 
Where  safety  more  than  pleasure  led; 
Thus,  many  a  waste  I  've  wandered  o'er, 
Clomb  many  a  crag,  crossed  many  a  moor. 

But,  by  my  halidome, 
A  scene  so  rude,  so  wild  as  this. 
Yet  so  sublime  in  barrenness, 
Ne'er  did  my  wandering  footsteps  press 

Where'er  I  happed  to  roam.' 

XIV 

No  marvel  thus  the  monarch  spake; 

For  rarely  human  eye  has  known 
A  scene  so  stern  as  that  dread  lake 

With  its  dark  ledge  of  barren  stone. 
Seems  that  primeval  earthquake's  sway 
Hath  rent  a  strange  and  shattered  way 
298 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Through  the  rude  bosom  of  the  hill, 
And  that  each  naked  precipice, 
Sable  ravine,  and  dark  abyss, 

Tells  of  the  outrage  still. 
The  wildest  glen  but  this  can  show 
Some  touch  of  Nature's  genial  glow; 
On  high  Benmore  green  mosses  grow, 
And  heath-bells  bud  in  deep  Glencroe, 

And  copse  on  Cruchan-Ben; 
But  here,  —  above,  around,  below, 

On  mountain  or  in  glen. 
Nor  tree,  nor  shrub,  nor  plant,  nor  flower, 
Nor  aught  of  vegetative  power, 

The  weary  eye  may  ken. 
For  all  is  rocks  at  random  thrown. 
Black  waves,  bare  crags,  and  banks  of  stone, 

As  if  were  here  denied 
The  summer  sun,  the  spring's  sweet  dew, 
That  clothe  with  many  a  varied  hue 

The  bleakest  mountain-side. 

XV 

And  wilder,  forward  as  they  wound. 
Were  the  proud  cliffs  and  lake  profound. 
Huge  terraces  of  granite  black 
Afforded  rude  and  cumbered  track ; 
For  from  the  mountain  hoar, 
299 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Hurled  headlong  in  some  night  of  fear, 
When  yelled  the  wolf  and  fled  the  deer, 

Loose  crags  had  toppled  o'er; 
And  some,  chance-poised  and  balanced,  lay 
So  that  a  stripling  arm  might  sway 

A  mass  no  host  could  raise. 
In  Nature's  rage  at  random  thrown 
Yet  trembling  like  the  Druid's  stone 

On  its  precarious  base. 
The  evening  mists  with  ceaseless  change 
Now  clothed  the  mountains'  lofty  range, 

Now  left  their  foreheads  bare, 
And  round  the  skirts  their  mantle  furled, 
Or  on  the  sable  waters  curled; 
Or  on  the  eddying  breezes  whirled, 

Dispersed  in  middle  air. 
And  oft  condensed  at  once  they  lower 
When,  brief  and  fierce,  the  mountain  shower 

Pours  like  a  torrent  down. 
And  when  return  the  sun's  glad  beams, 
Whitened  with  foam  a  thousand  streams 

Leap  from  the  mountain's  crown. 


XVI 

'This  lake,*  said  Bruce,  'whose  barriers  drear 
Are  precipices  sharp  and  sheer, 
300 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Yielding  no  track  for  goat  or  deer 
Save  the  black  shelves  we  tread, 
How  term  you  its  dark  waves?  and  how 
Yon  northern  mountain's  pathless  brow, 

And  yonder  peak  of  dread 
That  to  the  evening  sun  uplifts 
The  griesly  gulfs  and  slaty  rifts 

Which  seam  its  shivered  head?*  — 
'Coriskin  call  the  dark  lake's  name, 
Coolin  the  ridge,  as  bards  proclaim, 
From  old  Cuchullin,  chief  of  fame. 
But  bards,  familiar  in  our  isles 
Rather  with  Nature's  frowns  than  smiles, 
Full  oft  their  careless  humours  please 
By  sportive  names  from  scenes  like  these. 
I  would  old  Torquil  were  to  show 
His  Maidens  with  their  breasts  of  snow, 
Or  that  my  noble  liege  were  nigh 
To  hear  his  Nurse  sing  lullaby!  — 
The  Maids  —  tall  cliffs  with  breakers  white, 
The  Nurse  —  a  torrent's  roaring  might  — 
Or  that  your  eye  could  see  the  mood 
Of  Corryvrekin's  whirlpool  rude, 
When  dons  the  Hag  her  whitened  hood  — 
'T  is  thus  our  islesmen's  fancy  frames 
For  scenes  so  stern  fantastic  names.' 


301 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

XVII 

Answered  the  Bruce,  'And  musing  mind 

Might  here  a  graver  moral  find. 

These  mighty  cliffs  that  heave  on  high 

Their  naked  brows  to  middle  sky, 

Indifferent  to  the  sun  or  snow, 

Where  nought  can  fade  and  nought  can  blow, 

May  they  not  mark  a  monarch's  fate,  — 

Raised  high  'mid  storms  of  strife  and  state, 

Beyond  life's  lowlier  pleasures  placed, 

His  soul  a  rock,  his  heart  a  waste? 

O'er  hope  and  love  and  fear  aloft 

High  rears  his  crowned  head  —  But  soft! 

Look,  underneath  yon  jutting  crag 

Are  hunters  and  a  slaughtered  stag. 

Who  may  they  be?  But  late  you  said 

No  steps  these  desert  regions  tread?'  — 

XVIII 

*So  said  I  —  and  believed  in  sooth,' 
Ronald  replied,  'I  spoke  the  truth. 
Yet  now  I  spy,  by  yonder  stone. 
Five  men  —  they  mark  us  and  come  on; 
And  by  their  badge  on  bonnet  borne 
I  guess  them  of  the  land  of  Lorn, 
Foes  to  my  liege.'  —  'So  let  it  be; 
302 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

I  've  faced  worse  odds  than  five  to  three  — 
But  the  poor  page  can  little  aid ; 
Then  be  our  battle  thus  arrayed, 
If  our  free  passage  they  contest; 
Cope  thou  with  two,  I  'II  match  the  rest.'  — 
'Not  so,  my  liege  —  for,  by  my  life, 
This  sword  shall  meet  the  treble  strife ; 
My  strength,  my  skill  in  arms,  more  small, 
And  less  the  loss  should  Ronald  fall. 
But  islesmen  soon  to  soldiers  grow,. 
Allan  has  sword  as  well  as  bow, 
And  were  my  monarch's  order  given. 
Two  shafts  should  make  our  number  even.'  - 

*  No !  not  to  save  my  life ! '  he  said ; 

*  Enough  of  blood  rests  on  my  head 

Too  rashly  spilled  —  we  soon  shall  know. 
Whether  they  come  as  friend  or  foe.' 

XIX 

Nigh  came  the  strangers  and  more  nigh ;  — 
Still  less  they  pleased  the  monarch's  eye. 
Men  were  they  all  of  evil  mien,^ 
Down-looked,  unwilling  to  be  seen; 
They  moved  with  half-resolved  pace, 
And  bent  on  earth  each  gloomy  face. 
The  foremost  two  were  fair  arrayed 

«  See  Note  lOO. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

With  brogue  and  bonnet,  trews  and  plaid, 
And  bore  the  arms  of  mountaineers, 
Daggers  and  broadswords,  bows  and  spears. 
The  three  that  lagged  small  space  behind 
Seemed  serfs  of  more  degraded  kind ; 
Goat-skins  or  deer-hides  o'er  them  cast 
Made  a  rude  fence  against  the  blast; 
Their  arms  and  feet  and  heads  were  bare. 
Matted  their  beards,  unshorn  their  hair; 
For  arms  the  caitiffs  bore  in  hand 
A  club,  an  axe,  a  rusty  brand. 

XX 

Onward  still  mute,  they  kept  the  track;  — 

'Tell  who  ye  be,  or  else  stand  back,' 
Said  Bruce ;  '  in  deserts  when  they  meet, 
Men  pass  not  as  in  peaceful  street.' 
Still  at  his  stern  command  they  stood. 
And  proffered  greeting  brief  and  rude, 
But  acted  courtesy  so  ill 
As  seemed  of  fear  and  not  of  will. 

'Wanderers  we  are,  as  you  may  be; 
Men  hither  driven  by  wind  and  sea, 
Who,  if  you  list  to  taste  our  cheer, 
Will  share  with  you  this  fallow  deer.'  — 

'If  from  the  sea,  where  lies  your  bark?* 

'Ten  fathom  deep  in  ocean  dark! 
304 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Wrecked  yesternight :  but  we  are  men 

Who  little  sense  of  peril  ken. 

The  shades  come  down  —  the  day  is  shut  — 

Will  you  go  with  us  to  our  hut?'  — 
'Our  vessel  waits  us  in  the  bay; 

Thanks  for  your  proffer  —  have  good-day.'  — 
'Was  that  your  galley,  then,  which  rode 

Not  far  from  shore  when  evening  glowed?'  — 
*It  was.'  —  'Then  spare  your  needless  pain, 

There  will  she  now  be  sought  in  vain. 

We  saw  her  from  the  mountain  head 

When,  with  Saint  George's  blazon  red 

A  southern  vessel  bore  in  sight, 

And  yours  raised  sail  and  took  to  flight.'  — 


XXI 

'Now,  by  the  rood,  unwelcome  news!' 
Thus  with  Lord  Ronald  communed  Bruce; 

*Nor  rests  there  light  enough  to  show 
If  this  their  tale  be  true  or  no. 
The  men  seem  bred  of  churlish  kind, 
Yet  mellow  nuts  have  hardest  rind ; 
We  will  go  with  them  —  food  and  fire 
And  sheltering  roof  our  wants  require. 
Sure  guard  'gainst  treachery  will  we  keep, 
And  watch  by  turns  our  comrades'  sleep.  — 
«  305 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Good  fellows,  thanks ;  your  guests  we  '11  be. 
And  well  will  pay  the  courtesy. 
Come,  lead  us  where  your  lodging  lies  — 
Nay,  soft!  we  mix  not  companies.  — 
Show  us  the  path  o'er  crag  and  stone, 
And  we  will  follow  you ;  —  lead  on.' 

XXII 

They  reached  the  dreary  cabin,  made 
Of  sails  against  a  rock  displayed. 

And  there  on  entering  found 
A  slender  boy,  whose  form  and  mien 
111  suited  with  such  savage  scene, 
In  cap  and  cloak  of  velvet  green, 

Low  seated  on  the  ground. 
His  garb  was  such  as  minstrels  wear, 
Dark  was  his  hue,  and  dark  his  hair, 
His  youthful  cheek  was  marred  by  care, 

His  eyes  in  sorrow  drowned. 
'Whence  this  poor  boy?'  —  As  Ronald  spoke, 
The  voice  his  trance  of  anguish  broke; 
As  if  awaked  from  ghastly  dream, 
He  raised  his  head  with  start  and  scream, 

And  wildly  gazed  around ; 
Then  to  the  wall  his  face  he  turned, 
And  his  dark  neck  with  blushes  burned. 


306 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

XXIII 

'Whose  is  the  boy?'  again  he  said. 
*By  chance  of  war  our  captive  made; 
He  may  be  yours,  if  you  should  hold 
That  music  has  more  charms  than  gold ; 
For,  though  from  earliest  childhood  mute, 
The  lad  can  deftly  touch  the  lute, 
And  on  the  rote  and  viol  play, 
And  well  can  drive  the  time  away 

For  those  who  love  such  glee ; 
For  me  the  favouring  breeze,  when  loud 
It  pipes  upon  the  galley's  shroud. 
Makes  blither  melody.'  — 
*Hath  he,  then,  sense  of  spoken  sound?*  — 

'Aye;  so  his  mother  bade  us  know, 
A  crone  in  our  late  shipwreck  drowned. 

And  hence  the  silly  stripling's  woe. 
More  of  the  youth  I  cannot  say. 
Our  captive  but  since  yesterday ; 
When  wind  and  weather  waxed  so  grim, 
We  little  listed  think  of  him.  — 
But  why  waste  time  in  idle  words? 
Sit  to  your  cheer  —  unbelt  your  swords.* 
Sudden  the  captive  turned  his  head. 
And  one  quick  glance  to  Ronald  sped. 
It  was  a  keen  and  warning  look. 
And  well  the  chief  the  signal  took. 
307 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

XXIV 

'Kind  host,*  he  said,  'our  needs  require 
A  separate  hoard  and  separate  fire; 
For  know  that  on  a  pilgrimage 
Wend  I,  my  comrade,  and  this  page. 
And,  sworn  to  vigil  and  to  fast 
Long  as  this  hallowed  task  shall  last, 
We  never  doff  the  plaid  or  sword, 
Or  feast  us  at  a  stranger's  board. 
And  never  share  one  common  sleep, 
But  one  must  still  his  vigil  keep. 
Thus,  for  our  separate  use,  good  friend, 
We'll  hold  this  hut's  remoter  end.'  — 

*A  churlish  vow,'  the  elder  said, 

'And  hard,  methinks,  to  be  obeyed. 
How  say  you,  if,  to  wreak  the  scorn 
That  pays  our  kindness  harsh  return, 
We  should  refuse  to  share  our  meal?'  -^ 

'Then  say  we  that  our  swords  are  steel! 
And  our  vow  binds  us  not  to  fast 
Where  gold  or  force  may  buy  repast.'  — 
Their  host's  dark  brow  grew  keen  and  fell. 
His  teeth  are  clenched,  his  features  swell; 
Yet  sunk  the  felon's  moody  ire 
Before  Lord  Ronald's  glance  of  fire. 
Nor  could  his  craven  courage  brook 
308 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

The  monarch's  calm  and  dauntless  look. 
With  laugh  constrained  —  '  Let  every  man 
Follow  the  fashion  of  his  clan  I 
Each  to  his  separate  quarters  keep, 
And  feed  or  fast,  or  wake  or  sleep.' 

XXV 

Their  fire  at  separate  distance  burns, 
By  turns  they  eat,  keep  guard  by  turns; 
For  evil  seemed  that  old  man's  eye. 
Dark  and  designing,  fierce  yet  shy. 
Still  he  avoided  forward  look. 
But  slow  and  circumspectly  took 
A  circling,  never-ceasing  glance, 
By  doubt  and  cunning  marked  at  once, 
Which  shot  a  mischief-boding  ray 
From  under  eyebrows  shagged  and  grey. 
The  younger,  too,  who  seemed  his  son. 
Had  that  dark  look  the  timid  shun ; 
The  half-clad  serfs  behind  them  sate. 
And  scowled  a  glare  'twixt  fear  and  hate  — 
Till  all,  as  darkness  onward  crept. 
Couched  down,  and  seemed  to  sleep  or  slept. 
Nor  he,  that  boy,  whose  powerless  tongue 
Must  trust  his  eyes  to  wail  his  wrong, 
A  longer  watch  of  sorrow  made, 
But  stretched  his  limbs  to  slumber  laid. 
309 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

XXVI 

Not  in  his  dangerous  host  confides 
The  king,  but  wary  watch  provides. 
Ronald  keeps  ward  till  midnight  past, 
Then  wakes  the  king,  young  Allan  last; 
Thus  ranked,  to  give  the  youthful  page 
The  rest  required  by  tender  age. 
What  is  Lord  Ronald's  wakeful  thought 
To  chase  the  languor  toil  had  brought?  — 
For  deem  not  that  he  deigned  to  throw 
Much  care  upon  such  coward  foe  — 
He  thinks  of  lovely  Isabel 
When  at  her  foeman's  feet  she  fell. 
Nor  less  when,  placed  in  princely  selle, 
She  glanced  on  him  with  favouring  eyes 
At  Woodstock  when  he  won  the  prize. 
Nor,  fair  in  joy,  in  sorrow  fair. 
In  pride  of  place  as  'mid  despair, 
Must  she  alone  engross  his  care. 
His  thoughts  to  his  betrothed  bride, 
To  Edith,  turn  —  O,  how  decide, 
When  here  his  love  and  heart  are  given. 
And  there  his  faith  stands  plight  to  Heaven! 
No  drowsy  ward  't  is  his  to  keep. 
For  seldom  lovers  long  for  sleep. 
Till  sung  his  midnight  hymn  the  owl, 
310 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Answered  the  dog-fox  with  his  howl, 
Then  waked  the  king  —  at  his  request, 
Lord  Ronald  stretched  himself  to  rest. 

XXVII 

What  spell  was  good  King  Robert's,  say, 

To  drive  the  weary  night  away? 

His  was  the  patriot's  burning  thought 

Of  freedom's  battle  bravely  fought. 

Of  castles  stormed,  of  cities  freed, 

Of  deep  design  and  daring  deed, 

Of  England's  roses  reft  and  torn. 

And  Scotland's  cross  in  triumph  worn, 

Of  rout  and  rally,  war  and  truce,  — 

As  heroes  think,  so  thought  the  Bruce. 

No  marvel,  'mid  such  musings  high 

Sleep  shunned  the  monarch's  thoughtful  eye. 

Now  over  Coolin's  eastern  head 

The  greyish  light  begins  to  spread, 

The  otter  to  his  cavern  drew. 

And  clamoured  shrill  the  wakening  mew; 

Then  watched  the  page  —  to  needful  rest 

The  king  resigned  his  anxious  breast. 

XXVIII 

To  Allan's  eyes  was  harder  task 
The  weary  watch  their  safeties  ask. 
3" 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

He  trimmed  the  fire  and  gave  to  shine 
With  bickering  Hght  the  splintered  pine; 
Then  gazed  awhile  where  silent  laid 
Their  hosts  were  shrouded  by  the  plaid. 
But  little  fear  waked  in  his  mind, 
For  he  was  bred  of  martial  kind, 
And,  if  to  manhood  he  arrive. 
May  match  the  boldest  knight  alive. 
Then  thought  he  of  his  mother's  tower, 
His  little  sister's  greenwood  bower, 
How  there  the  Easter-gambols  pass. 
And  of  Dan  Joseph's  lengthened  mass. 
But  still  before  his  weary  eye 
In  rays  prolonged  the  blazes  die  — 
Again  he  roused  him  —  on  the  lake 
Looked  forth  where  now  the  twilight-flake 
Of  pale  cold  dawn  began  to  wake. 
On  Coolin's  cliffs  the  mist  lay  furled, 
The  morning  breeze  the  lake  had  curled, 
The  short  dark  waves,  heaved  to  the  land, 
With  ceaseless  plash  kissed  cliff  or  sand ;  — 
It  was  a  slumbrous  sound  —  he  turned 
To  tales  at  which  his  youth  had  burned. 
Of  pilgrim's  path  by  demon  crossed, 
Of  sprightly  elf  or  yelling  ghost. 
Of  the  wild  witch's  baneful  cot, 
And  mermaid's  alabaster  grot, 
312 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Who  bathes  her  limbs  in  sunless  well 
Deep  in  Strathaird's  enchanted  cell.^ 
Thither  in  fancy  rapt  he  flies, 
And  on  his  sight  the  vaults  arise ; 
That  hut's  dark  walls  he  sees  no  more, 
His  foot  is  on  the  marble  floor, 
And  o'er  his  head  the  dazzling  spars 
Gleam  like  a  firmament  of  stars !  — 
Hark !  hears  he  not  the  sea-nymph  speak 
Her  anger  in  that  thrilling  shriek !  — 
No !  all  too  late,  with  Allan's  dream 
Mingled  the  captive's  warning  scream. 
As  from  the  ground  he  strives  to  start, 
A  ruffian's  dagger  finds  his  heart! 
Upwards  he  casts  his  dizzy  eyes  — 
Murmurs  his  master's  name  —  and  dies! 

XXIX 

Not  so  awoke  the  king!  his  hand 
Snatched  from  the  flame  a  knotted  brand. 
The  nearest  weapon  of  his  wrath ; 
With  this  he  crossed  the  murderer's  path 

And  venged  young  Allan  well ! 
The  spattered  brain  and  bubbling  blood 
Hissed  on  the  half-extinguished  wood, 

The  miscreant  gasped  and  fell ! 

•  See  Note  loi. 


THE  LORD   OF  THE  ISLES 

Nor  rose  in  peace  the  Island  Lord ; 
One  caitiff  died  upon  his  sword, 
And  one  beneath  his  grasp  lies  prone 
In  mortal  grapple  overthrown. 
But  while  Lord  Ronald's  dagger  drank 
The  life-blood  from  his  panting  flank, 
The  father-rufifian  of  the  band 
Behind  him  rears  a  coward  hand !  — 

O  for  a  moment's  aid, 
Till  Bruce,  who  deals  no  double  blow, 
Dash  to  the  earth  another  foe, 

Above  his  comrade  laid !  — 
And  it  is  gained  —  the  captive  sprung 
On  the  raised  arm  and  closely  clung. 

And,  ere  he  shook  him  loose. 
The  mastered  felon  pressed  the  ground, 
And  gasped  beneath  a  mortal  wound. 

While  o'er  him  stands  the  Bruce. 

XXX 

'Miscreant!  while  lasts  thy  flitting  spark. 
Give  me  to  know  the  purpose  dark 
That  armed  thy  hand  with  murderous  knife 
Against  offenceless  stranger's  life?'  — 

'No  stranger  thou!'  with  accent  fell, 
Murmured  the  wretch ;  '  I  know  thee  well, 
And  know  thee  for  the  foeman  sworn 
314 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Of  my  high  chief,  the  mighty  Lorn.'  — 

*  Speak  yet  again,  and  speak  the  truth 

For  thy  soul's  sake!  —  from  whence  this  youth? 
His  country,  birth,  and  name  declare, 
And  thus  one  evil  deed  repair.'  — 

*  Vex  me  no  more !  —  my  blood  runs  cold  — 
No  more  I  know  than  I  have  told. 

We  found  him  in  a  bark  we  sought 
With  different  purpose  —  and  I  thought*  — 
Fate  cut  him  short ;  in  blood  and  broil, 
As  he  had  lived,  died  Cormac  Doil. 

XXXI 

Then  resting  on  his  bloody  blade, 
The  valiant  Bruce  to  Ronald  said, 

*  Now  shame  upon  us  both !  —  that  boy 

Lifts  his  mute  face  to  heaven 
And  clasps  his  hands,  to  testify 
His  gratitude  to  God  on  high 

For  strange  deliverance  given. 
His  speechless  gesture  thanks  hath  paid, 
Which  our  free  tongues  have  left  unsaid!' 
He  raised  the  youth  with  kindly  word, 
But  marked  him  shudder  at  the  sword: 
He  cleansed  it  from  its  hue  of  death, 
And  plunged  the  weapon  in  its  sheath. 
'Alas,  poor  child!  unfitting  part 

315 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Fate  doomed  when  with  so  soft  a  heart 

And  form  so  slight  as  thine 
She  made  thee  first  a  pirate's  slave, 
Then  in  his  stead  a  patron  gave 

Of  wayward  lot  like  mine ; 
A  landless  prince,  whose  wandering  life 
Is  but  one  scene  of  blood  and  strife  — 
Yet  scant  of  friends  the  Bruce  shall  be, 
But  he'll  find  resting-place  for  thee.  — 
Come,  noble  Ronald!  o'er  the  dead 
Enough  thy  generous  grief  is  paid, 
And  well  has  Allan's  fate  been  wroke; 
Come,  wend  we  hence  —  the  day  has  broke. 
Seek  we  our  bark  —  I  trust  the  tale 
Was  false  that  she  had  hoisted  sail.' 

XXXII 

Yet,  ere  they  left  that  charnel-cell, 
The  Island  Lord  bade  sad  farewell 
To  Allan:  'Who  shall  tell  this  tale,' 
He  said,  'in  halls  of  Donagaile? 
O,  who  his  widowed  mother  tell 
That,  ere  his  bloom,  her  fairest  fell?  — • 
Rest  thee,  poor  youth !  and  trust  my  care 
For  mass  and  knell  and  funeral  prayer; 
While  o'er  those  caitiffs  where  they  lie 
The  wolf  shall  snarl ,  the  raven  cry !  * 
316 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

And  now  the  eastern  mountain's  head 
On  the  dark  lake  threw  lustre  red ; 
Bright  gleams  of  gold  and  purple  streak 
Ravine  and  precipice  and  peak  — 
So  earthly  power  at  distance  shows ; 
Reveals  his  splendour,  hides  his  woes. 
O'er  sheets  of  granite,  dark  and  broad, 
Rent  and  unequal,  lay  the  road. 
In  sad  discourse  the  warriors  wind, 
And  the  mute  captive  moves  behind. 


CANTO  FOURTH 

I 

Stranger  !  if  e'er  thine  ardent  step  hath  traced 
The  northern  realms  of  ancient  Caledon, 
Where  the  proud  Queen  of  Wilderness  hath  placed 
By  lake  and  cataract  her  lonely  throne, 
Sublime  but  sad  delight  thy  soul  hath  known, 
Gazing  on  pathless  glen  and  mountain  high, 
Listing  where  from  the  cliffs  the  torrents  thrown 
Mingle  their  echoes  with  the  eagle's  cry. 
And  with  the  sounding  lake  and  with  the  moaning  sky. 

Yes!  't  was  sublime,  but  sad.  —  The  loneliness 
Loaded  thy  heart,  the  desert  tired  thine  eye; 
And  strange  and  awful  fears  began  to  press 
Thy  bosom  with  a  stern  solemnity. 
Then  hast  thou  wished  some  woodman's  cottage  nigh, 
Something  that  showed  of  life,  though  low  and  mean; 
Glad  sight,  its  curling  wreath  of  smoke  to  spy, 
Glad  sound,  its  cock's  blithe  carol  would  have  been, 
Or  children  whooping  wild  beneath  the  willows  green. 

Such  are  the  scenes  where  savage  grandeur  wakes 
An  awful  thrill  that  softens  into  sighs; 
318 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Such  feelings  rouse  them  by  dim  Rannoch's  lakes, 
In  dark  Glencoe  such  gloomy  raptures  rise: 
Or  farther,  where  beneath  the  northern  skies 
Chides  wild  Loch-Eribol  his  caverns  hoar  — 
But,  be  the  minstrel  judge,  they  yield  the  prize 
Of  desert  dignity  to  that  dread  shore 
That  sees  grim  Coolin  rise  and  hears  Coriskin  roar. 

II 

Through  such  wild  scenes  the  champion  passed. 
When  bold  halloo  and  bugle-blast 
Upon  the  breeze  came  loud  and  fast. 
'There,'  said  the  Bruce,  'rung  Edward's  horn! 
What  can  have  caused  such  brief  return? 
And  see,  brave  Ronald,  —  see  him  dart 
O'er  stock  and  stone  like  hunted  hart. 
Precipitate,  as  is  the  use. 
In  war  or  sport,  of  Edward  Bruce. 
He  marks  us,  and  his  eager  cry 
Will  tell  his  news  ere  he  be  nigh.' 

Ill 

Loud  Edward  shouts,  'What  make  ye  here, 
Warring  upon  the  mountain-deer. 
When  Scotland  wants  her  king? 
A  bark  from  Lennox  crossed  our  track, 
With  her  in  speed  I  hurried  back, 
319 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

These  joyful  news  to  bring  — 
The  Stuart  stirs  in  Teviotdale, 
And  Douglas  wakes  his  native  vale ; 
Thy  storm-tossed  fleet  hath  won  its  way 
With  little  loss  to  Brodick-Bay, 
And  Lennox  with  a  gallant  band 
Waits  but  thy  coming  and  command 
To  waft  them  o'er  to  Carrick  strand. 
There  are  blithe  news!  —  but  mark  the  close! 
Edward,  the  deadliest  of  our  foes, 
As  with  his  host  he  northward  passed, 
Hath  on  the  borders  breathed  his  last.' 

rv 

Still  stood  the  Bruce  —  his  steady  cheek 
Was  little  wont  his  joy  to  speak, 

But  then  his  colour  rose:  — 
'Now,  Scotland!  shortly  shalt  thou  see, 
With  God's  high  will,  thy  children  free 

And  vengeance  on  thy  foes! 
Yet  to  no  sense  of  selfish  wrongs,* 
Bear  witness  with  me,  Heaven,  belongs 

My  joy  o'er  Edward's  bier; 
I  took  my  knighthood  at  his  hand, 
And  lordship  held  of  him  and  land, 

And  well  may  vouch  it  here, 

•  See  Note  102. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

That,  blot  the  story  from  his  page 
Of  Scotland  ruined  in  his  rage, 
You  read  a  monarch  brave  and  sage 

And  to  his  people  dear.'  — 
'Let  London's  burghers  mourn  her  lord 
And  Croydon  monks  his  praise  record,* 

The  eager  Edward  said; 
'Eternal  as  his  own,  my  hate 
Surmounts  the  bounds  of  mortal  fate 

And  dies  not  with  the  dead ! 
Such  hate  was  his  on  Solway's  strand 
When  vengeance  clenched  his  palsied  hand, 
That  pointed  yet  to  Scotland's  land,^ 

As  his  last  accents  prayed 
Disgrace  and  curse  upon  his  heir 
If  he  one  Scottish  head  should  spare 
Till  stretched  upon  the  bloody  lair 

Each  rebel  corpse  was  laid ! 
Such  hate  was  his  when  his  last  breath 
Renounced  the  peaceful  house  of  death, 
And  bade  his  bones  to  Scotland's  coast 
Be  borne  by  his  remorseless  host, 
As  if  his  dead  and  stony  eye 
Could  still  enjoy  her  misery! 
Such  hate  was  his  —  dark,  deadly,  long; 
Mine  —  as  enduring,  deep,  and  strong!'  — 

•  See  Note  103. 
49  321 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

V 

'Let  women,  Edward,  war  with  words, 
•  With  curses  monks,  but  men  with  swords: 
Nor  doubt  of  living  foes  to  sate 
Deepest  revenge  and  deadliest  hate. 
Now  to  the  sea!  Behold  the  beach, 
And  see  the  galley's  pendants  stretch 
Their  fluttering  length  down  favouring  gale! 
Aboard,  aboard!  and  hoist  the  sail. 
Hold  we  our  way  for  Arran  first. 
Where  meet  in  arms  our  friends  dispersed ; 
Lennox  the  loyal,  De  la  Haye, 
And  Boyd  the  bold  in  battle  fray. 
I  long  the  hardy  band  to  head, 
And  see  once  more  my  standard  spread.  — 
Does  noble  Ronald  share  our  course, 
Or  stay  to  raise  his  island  force?'  — 
'Come  weal,  come  woe,  by  Bruce 's  side,* 
Replied  the  chief,  'will  Ronald  bide. 
And  since  two  galleys  yonder  ride, 
Be  mine,  so  please  my  liege,  dismissed 
To  wake  to  arms  the  clans  of  Uist, 
And  all  who  hear  the  Minche's  roar 
On  the  Long  Island's  lonely  shore. 
The  nearer  Isles  with  slight  delay 
Ourselves  may  summon  in  our  way; 
322 


THE  LORD   OF  THE  ISLES 

And  soon  on  Arran's  shore  shall  meet 
With  Torquil's  aid  a  gallant  fleet, 
If  aught  avails  their  chieftain's  hest 
Among  the  islesmen  of  the  west.' 


VI 

Thus  was  their  venturous  council  said. 
But,  ere  their  sails  the  galleys  spread, 
Coriskin  dark  and  Coolin  high 
Echoed  the  dirge's  doleful  cry. 
Along  that  sable  lake  passed  slow  — 
Fit  scene  for  such  a  sight  of  woe  — 
The  sorrowing  islesmen  as  they  bore 
The  murdered  Allan  to  the  shore. 
At  every  pause  with  dismal  shout 
Their  coronach  of  grief  rung  out, 
And  ever  when  they  moved  again 
The  pipes  resumed  their  clamorous  strain, 
And  with  the  pibroch's  shrilling  wail 
Mourned  the  young  heir  of  Donagaile. 
Round  and  around,  from  cliff  and  cave 
His  answer  stern  old  Coolin  gave, 
Till  high  upon  his  misty  side 
Languished  the  mournful  notes  and  died. 
For  never  sounds  by  mortal  made 
Attained  his  high  and  haggard  head, 
323 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

That  echoes  but  the  tempest's  moan 
Or  the  deep  thunder's  rending  groan. 

VII 

Merrily,  merrily  bounds  the  bark, 

She  bounds  before  the  gale, 
The  mountain  breeze  from  Ben-na-darch 

Is  joyous  in  her  sail! 
With  fluttering  sound  like  laughter  hoarse 

The  cords  and  canvas  strain, 
The  waves,  divided  by  her  force, 
In  rippling  eddies  chased  her  course, 

As  if  they  laughed  again. 
Not  down  the  breeze  more  blithely  flew, 
Skimming  the  wave,  the  light  sea-mew 

Than  the  gay  galley  bore 
Her  course  upon  that  favouring  wind. 
And  Coolin's  crest  has  sunk  behind 

And  Slapin's  caverned  shore. 
'T  was  then  that  warlike  signals  wake 
Dunscaith's  dark  towers  and  Eisord's  lake, 
And  soon  from  Cavilgarrigh's  head 
Thick  wreaths  of  eddying  smoke  were  spread ; 
A  summons  these  of  war  and  wrath 
To  the  brave  clans  of  Sleat  and  Strath, 

And  ready  at  the  sight 
Each  warrior  to  his  weapon  sprung 
324 


THE  LORD   OF   THE   ISLES 

And  targe  upon  his  shoulder  flung, 

Impatient  for  the  fight. 
Mac-Kinnon's  chief,  in  warfare  grey, 
Had  charge  to  muster  their  anay 
And  guide  their  barks  to  Brodick  Bay. 

VIII 

Signal  of  Ronald's  high  command, 
A  beacon  gleamed  o'er  sea  and  land 
From  Canna's  tower,  that,  steep  and  grey,^ 
Like  falcon-nest  o'erhangs  the  bay. 
Seek  not  the  giddy  crag  to  climb 
To  view  the  turret  scathed  by  time; 
It  is  a  task  of  doubt  and  fear 
To  aught  but  goat  or  mountain-deer. 
But  rest  thee  on  the  silver  beach. 
And  let  the  aged  herdsman  teach 

His  tale  of  former  day; 
His  cur's  wild  clamour  he  shall  chide, 
And  for  thy  seat  by  ocean's  side 

His  varied  plaid  display ; 
Then  tell  how  with  their  chieftain  came 
In  ancient  times  a  foreign  dame 
To  yonder  turret  grey. 
Stern  was  her  lord's  suspicious  mind 
Who  in  so  rude  a  jail  confined 

*  See  Note  104. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

So  soft  and  fair  a  thrall ! 
And  oft  when  moon  on  ocean  slept 
That  lovely  lady  sate  and  wept 

Upon  the  castle-wall, 
And  turned  her  eye  to  southern  climes, 
And  thought  perchance  of  happier  times, 
And  touched  her  lute  by  fits,  and  sung 
Wild  ditties  in  her  native  tongue. 
And  still,  when  on  the  cliff  and  bay 
Placid  and  pale  the  moonbeams  play. 

And  every  breeze  is  mute. 
Upon  the  lone  Hebridean's  ear 
Steals  a  strange  pleasure  mixed  with  fear, 
While  from  that  cliff  he  seems  to  hear 

The  murmur  of  a  lute 
And  sounds  as  of  a  captive  lone 
That  mourns  her  woes  in  tongue  unknown. 
Strange  is  the  tale  —  but  all  too  long 
Already  hath  it  staid  the  song  — 

Yet  who  may  pass  them  by. 
That  crag  and  tower  in  ruins  grey, 
Nor  to  their  hapless  tenant  pay 

The  tribute  of  a  sigh? 

IX 

Merrily,  merrily  bounds  the  bark 
O'er  the  broad  ocean  driven, 
326 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Her  path  by  Ronin's  mountains  dark^ 

The  steersman's  hand  hath  given. 
And  Ronin's  mountains  dark  have  sent 

Their  hunters  to  the  shore, 
And  each  his  ashen  bow  unbent, 

And  gave  his  pastime  o'er, 
And  at  the  Island  Lord's  command 
For  hunting  spear  took  warrior's  brand. 
On  Scooreigg  next  a  warning  light  ^ 
Summoned  her  warriors  to  the  fight ; 
A  numerous  race  ere  stern  MacLeod 
O'er  their  bleak  shores  in  vengeance  strode, 
When  all  in  vain  the  ocean-cave 
Its  refuge  to  his  victims  gave. 
The  chief,  relentless  in  his  wrath. 
With  blazing  heath  blockades  the  path ; 
In  dense  and  stifling  volumes  rolled. 
The  vapour  filled  the  caverned  hold ! 
The  warrior-threat,  the  infant's  plain, 
The  mother's  screams,  were  heard  in  vain; 
The  vengeful  chief  maintains  his  fires 
Till  in  the  vault  a  tribe  expires! 
The  bones  which  strew  that  cavern's  gloom 
Too  well  attest  their  dismal  doom. 

•  See  Note  los.  *  See  Note  io6. 


327 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

X 

Merrily,  merrily  goes  the  bark 

On  a  breeze  from  the  northward  free, 
So  shoots  through  the  morning  sky  the  lark, 

Or  the  swan  through  the  summer  sea. 
The  shores  of  Mull  on  the  eastward  lay, 
And  Ulva  dark  and  Colonsay, 
And  all  the  group  of  islets  gay 

That  guard  famed  Staffa  round. 
Then  all  unknown  its  columns  rose 
Where  dark  and  undisturbed  repose 

The  cormorant  had  found, 
And  the  shy  seal  had  quiet  home 
And  weltered  in  that  wondrous  dome 
Where,  as  to  shame  the  temples  decked 
By  skill  of  earthly  architect. 
Nature  herself,  it  seemed,  would  raise 
A  minster  to  her  Maker's  praise !  ^ 
Not  for  a  meaner  use  ascend 
Her  columns  or  her  arches  bend ; 
Nor  of  a  theme  less  solemn  tells 
That  mighty  surge  that  ebbs  and  swells, 
And  still,  between  each  awful  pause, 
From  the  high  vault  an  answer  draws 
In  varied  tone  prolonged  and  high 

>  See  Note  107. 
328 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

That  mocks  the  organ's  melody. 
Nor  doth  its  entrance  front  in  vain 
To  old  lona's  holy  fane, 
That  Nature's  voice  might  seem  to  say, 
'Well  hast  thou  done,  frail  child  of  clay! 
Thy  humble  powers  that  stately  shrine 
Tasked  high  and  hard  —  but  witness  mine !  * 

XI 

Merrily,  merrily  goes  the  bark, 

Before  the  gale  she  bounds ; 
So  darts  the  dolphin  from  the  shark, 

Or  the  deer  before  the  hounds. 
They  left  Loch-Tua  on  their  lee, 
And  they  wakened  the  men  of  the  wild  Tiree, 

And  the  chief  of  the  sandy  Coll ; 
They  paused  not  at  Columba's  isle. 
Though  pealed  the  bells  from  the  holy  pile, 

With  long  and  measured  toll ; 
No  time  for  matin  or  for  mass, 
And  the  sounds  of  the  holy  summons  pass 

Away  in  the  billows'  roll. 
Lochbuie's  fierce  and  warlike  lord 
Their  signal  saw  and  grasped  his  sword, 
And  verdant  Islay  called  her  host. 
And  the  clans  of  Jura's  rugged  coast 

Lord  Ronald's  call  obey, 

329 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

And  Scarba's  isle,  whose  tortured  shore 
Still  rings  to  Corrievreken's  roar, 

And  lonely  Colonsay ;  — 
Scenes  sung  by  him  who  sings  no  more! 
His  bright  and  brief  career  is  o'er, 

And  mute  his  tuneful  strains; 
Quenched  is  his  lamp  of  varied  lore 
That  loved  the  light  of  song  to  pour; 
A  distant  and  a  deadly  shore 

Has  Leyden's  cold  remains!* 

XII 

Ever  the  breeze  blows  merrily, 
But  the  galley  ploughs  no  more  the  sea. 
Lest,  rounding  wild  Cantyre,  they  meet 
The  southern  foeman's  watchful  fleet, 

They  held  unwonted  way; 
Up  Tarbat's  western  lake  they  bore,^ 
Then  dragged  their  bark  the  isthmus  o'er, 
As  far  as  Kilmaconnel's  shore 

Upon  the  eastern  bay. 
It  was  a  wondrous  sight  to  see 
Topmast  and  pennon  glitter  free, 
High  raised  above  the  greenwood  tree, 
As  on  dry  land  the  galley  moves 
By  cliff  and  copse  and  alder  groves. 

»  See  Note  io8.  ■  See  Note  109. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Deep  import  from  that  selcouth  sign 
Did  many  a  mountain  seer  divine, 
For  ancient  legends  told  the  Gael 
That  when  a  royal  bark  should  sail 

O'er  Kilmaconnel  moss 
Old  Albyn  should  in  fight  prevail, 
And  every  foe  should  faint  and  quail 

Before  her  silver  Cross. 

XIII 

Now  launched  once  more,  the  inland  sea 
They  furrow  with  fair  augury, 

And  steer  for  Arran's  isle; 
The  sun,  ere  yet  he  sunk  behind 
Ben-Ghoil,  'the  Mountain  of  the  Wind,'* 
Gave  his  grim  peaks  a  greeting  kind. 

And  bade  Loch  Ranza  smile. 
Thither  their  destined  course  they  drew; 
It  seemed  the  isle  her  monarch  knew. 
So  brilliant  was  the  landward  view. 

The  ocean  so  serene; 
Each  puny  wave  in  diamonds  rolled 
O'er  the  calm  deep  where  hues  of  gold 

With  azure  strove  and  green. 
The  hill,  the  vale,  the  tree,  the  tower, 
Glowed  with  the  tints  of  evening's  hour, 

>  See  Note  no. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

The  beach  was  silver  sheen, 
The  wind  breathed  soft  as  lover's  sigh, 
And  oft  renewed  seemed  oft  to  die, 

With  breathless  pause  between. 
O,  who  with  speech  of  war  and  woes 
Would  wish  to  break  the  soft  repose 

Of  such  enchanting  scene? 

XIV 

Is  it  of  war  Lord  Ronald  speaks? 
The  blush  that  dyes  his  manly  cheeks, 
The  timid  look,  and  downcast  eye, 
And  faltering  voice  the  theme  deny. 

And  good  King  Robert's  brow  expressed 
He  pondered  o'er  some  high  request, 

As  doubtful  to  approve ; 
Yet  in  his  eye  and  lip  the  while, 
Dwelt  the  half-pitying  glance  and  smile 
Which  manhood's  graver  mood  beguile 
When  lovers  talk  of  love. 
Anxious  his  suit  Lord  Ronald  pled ; 
'And  for  my  bride  betrothed,'  he  said, 
*  My  liege  has  heard  the  rumour  spread 
Of  Edith  from  Artornish  fled. 
Too  hard  her  fate  —  I  claim  no  right 
To  blame  her  for  her  hasty  flight; 
Be  joy  and  happiness  her  lot!  — 
332 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

But  she  hath  fled  the  bridal-knot, 
And  Lorn  recalled  his  promised  plight 
In  the  assembled  chieftains'  sight.  — 
When,  to  fulfil  our  fathers'  band, 
I  proffered  all  I  could  —  my  hand  — 

I  was  repulsed  with  scorn; 
Mine  honour  I  should  ill  assert, 
And  worse  the  feelings  of  my  heart, 
If  I  should  play  a  suitor's  part 
Again  to  pleasure  Lorn.* 

XV 

'Young  Lord,'  the  royal  Bruce  replied, 
'That  question  must  the  Church  decide; 
Yet  seems  it  hard,  since  rumours  state 
Edith  takes  Clifford  for  her  mate, 
The  very  tie  which  she  hath  broke 
To  thee  should  still  be  binding  yoke. 
But,  for  my  sister  Isabel  — 
The  mood  of  woman  who  can  tell? 
I  guess  the  Champion  of  the  Rock, 
Victorious  in  the  tourney  shock, 
That  knight  unknown  to  whom  the  prize 
She  dealt,  —  had  favour  in  her  eyes; 
But  since  our  brother  Nigel's  fate, 
Our  ruined  house  and  hapless  state. 
From  worldly  joy  and  hope  estranged, 

333 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Much  is  the  hapless  mourner  changed. 
Perchance,'  here  smiled  the  noble  King, 
'This  tale  may  other  musings  bring. 
Soon  shall  we  know  —  yon  mountains  hide 
The  little  convent  of  Saint  Bride; 
There,  sent  by  Edward,  she  must  stay 
Till  fate  shall  give  more  prosperous  day ; 
And  thither  will  I  bear  thy  suit, 
Nor  will  thine  advocate  be  mute.' 

XVI 

As  thus  they  talked  in  earnest  mood, 
That  speechless  boy  beside  them  stood. 
He  stooped  his  head  against  the  mast, 
And  bitter  sobs  came  thick  and  fast, 
A  grief  that  would  not  be  repressed 
But  seemed  to  burst  his  youthful  breast. 
His  hands  against  his  forehead  held 
As  if  by  force  his  tears  repelled. 
But  through  his  fingers  long  and  slight 
Fast  trilled  the  drops  of  crystal  bright. 
Edward,  who  walked  the  deck  apart, 
First  spied  this  conflict  of  the  heart. 
Thoughtless  as  brave,  with  bluntness  kind 
He  sought  to  cheer  the  sorrower's  mind ; 
By  force  the  slender  hand  he  drew 
From  those  poor  eyes  that  streamed  with  dew. 
334 


THE  LORD   OF  THE  ISLES 

As  in  his  hold  the  stripHng  strove  — 
'T  was  a  rough  grasp,  though  meant  in  love  — 
Away  his  tears  the  warrior  swept, 
And  bade  shame  on  him  that  he  wept. 
*  I  would  to  Heaven  thy  helpless  tongue 
Could  tell  me  who  hath  wrought  thee  wrong ! 
For,  were  he  of  our  crew  the  best, 
The  insult  went  not  unredressed. 
Come,  cheer  thee ;  thou  art  now  of  age 
To  be  a  warrior's  gallant  page ; 
Thou  shalt  be  mine !  —  a  palfrey  fair 
O'er  hill  and  holt  my  boy  shall  bear, 
To  hold  my  bow  in  hunting  grove, 
Or  speed  on  errand  to  my  love ; 
For  well  I  wot  thou  wilt  not  tell 
The  temple  where  my  wishes  dwell.' 

XVII 

Bruce  interposed,  'Gay  Edward,  no, 
This  is  no  youth  to  hold  thy  bow, 
To  fill  thy  goblet,  or  to  bear 
Thy  message  light  to  lighter  fair. 
Thou  art  a  patron  all  too  wild 
And  thoughtless  for  this  orphan  child. 
See'st  thou  not  how  apart  he  steals, 
Keeps  lonely  couch,  and  lonely  meals? 
Fitter  by  far  in  yon  calm  cell 

335 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

To  tend  our  sister  Isabel, 

With  father  Augustine  to  share 

The  peaceful  change  of  convent  prayer, 

Than  wander  wild  adventures  through 

With  such  a  reckless  guide  as  you.'  — 
*  Thanks,  brother ! '  Edward  answered  gay, 
'For  the  high  laud  thy  words  convey! 

But  we  may  learn  some  future  day, 

If  thou  or  I  can  this  poor  boy 

Protect  the  best  or  best  employ. 

Meanwhile,  our  vessel  nears  the  strand ; 

Launch  we  the  boat  and  seek  the  land.* 

XVIII 

To  land  King  Robert  lightly  sprung, 

And  thrice  aloud  his  bugle  rung 

With  note  prolonged  and  varied  strain 

Till  bold  Ben-Ghoil  replied  again. 

Good  Douglas  then  and  De  la  Haye 

Had  in  a  glen  a  hart  at  bay, 

And  Lennox  cheered  the  laggard  hounds, 

When  waked  that  horn  the  greenwood  bound 
*It  is  the  foe!'  cried  Boyd,  who  came 

In  breathless  haste  with  eye  of  flame,  — 
*It  is  the  foe!  —  Each  valiant  lord 

Fling  by  his  bow  and  grasp  his  sword ! ' 
'Not  so,'  replied  the  good  Lord  James, 
336 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

'That  blast  no  English  bugle  claims. 
Oft  have  I  heard  it  fire  the  fight, 
Cheer  the  pursuit,  or  stop  the  flight. 
Dead  were  my  heart  and  deaf  mine  ear, 
If  Bruce  should  call  nor  Douglas  hear! 
Each  to  Loch  Ranza's  margin  spring; 
That  blast  was  winded  by  the  king!'  * 

XIX 

Fast  to  their  mates  the  tidings  spread, 
And  fast  to  shore  the  warriors  sped. 
Bursting  from  glen  and  greenwood  tree, 
High  waked  their  loyal  jubilee! 
Around  the  royal  Bruce  they  crowd. 
And  clasped  his  hands,  and  wept  aloud. 
Veterans  of  early  fields  were  there, 
Whose  helmets  pressed  their  hoary  hair. 
Whose  swords  and  axes  bore  a  stain 
From  life-blood  of  the  red-haired  Dane; 
And  boys  whose  hands  scarce  brooked  to  wield 
The  heavy  sword  or  bossy  shield. 
Men  too  were  there  that  bore  the  scars 
Impressed  in  Albyn's  woful  wars, 
At  Falkirk's  fierce  and  fatal  fight, 
Teyndrum's  dread  rout,  and  Methven's  flight; 
The  might  of  Douglas  there  was  seen, 

*  See  Note  iii. 

«  337 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

There  Lennox  with  his  graceful  mien; 
Kirkpa trick,  Closeburn's  dreaded  Knight; 
The  Lindsay,  fiery,  fierce,  and  light; 
The  heir  of  murdered  De  la  Haye, 
And  Boyd  the  grave,  and  Seton  gay. 
Around  their  king  regained  they  pressed, 
,  Wept,  shouted,  clasped  him  to  their  breast, 
And  young  and  old,  and  serf  and  lord, 
And  he  who  ne'er  unsheathed  a  sword. 
And  he  in  many  a  peril  tried, 
Alike  resolved  the  brunt  to  bide. 
And  live  or  die  by  Bruce's  side! 

XX 

O  War!  thou  hast  thy  fierce  delight, 
Thy  gleams  of  joy,  intensely  bright! 
Such  gleams  as  from  thy  polished  shield 
Fly  dazzling  o'er  the  battle-field ! 
Such  transports  wake,  severe  and  high. 
Amid  the  pealing  conquest  cry ; 
Scarce  less,  when  after  battle  lost 
Muster  the  remnants  of  a  host, 
And  as  each  comrade's  name  they  tell 
Who  in  the  well-fought  conflict  fell. 
Knitting  stern  brow  o'er  flashing  eye. 
Vow  to  avenge  them  or  to  die  I  — 
Warriors!  —  and  where  are  warriors  found, 
338 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

If  not  on  martial  Britain's  ground? 
And  who,  when  waked  with  note  of  fire, 
Love  more  than  they  the  British  lyre?  — 
Know  ye  not,  —  hearts  to  honour  dear! 
That  joy,  deep-thrilling,  stern,  severe, 
At  which  the  heartstrings  vibrate  high, 
And  wake  the  fountains  of  the  eye? 
And  blame  ye  then  the  Bruce  if  trace 
Of  tear  is  on  his  manly  face 
When,  scanty  relics  of  the  train 
That  hailed  at  Scone  his  early  reign, 
This  patriot  band  around  him  hung, 
And  to  his  knees  and  bosom  clung?  — 
Blame  ye  the  Bruce?  —  His  brother  blamed,* 
But  shared  the  weakness,  while  ashamed 
With  haughty  laugh  his  head  he  turned, 
And  dashed  away  the  tear  he  scorned. 

XXI 

'T  is  morning,  and  the  convent  bell 
Long  time  had  ceased  its  matin  knell 

Within  thy  walls,  Saint  Bride! 
An  aged  sister  sought  the  cell 
Assigned  to  Lady  Isabel, 

And  hurriedly  she  cried, 
'Haste,  gentle  Lady,  haste  !  —  there  waits 

•  See  Note  iia. 

339 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

A  noble  stranger  at  the  gates; 

Saint  Bride's  poor  votaress  ne'er  has  seen 

A  knight  of  such  a  princely  mien; 

His  errand,  as  he  bade  me  tell, 

Is  with  the  Lady  Isabel.' 

The  princess  rose,  —  for  on  her  knee 

Low  bent  she  told  her  rosary,  — 
'Let  him  by  thee  his  purpose  teach; 

I  may  not  give  a  stranger  speech.'  — 
'Saint  Bride  forefend,  thou  royal  maid!' 

The  portress  crossed  herself  and  said, 
'Not  to  be  Prioress  might  I 

Debate  his  will,  his  suit  deny.'  — 
'Has  earthly  show  then,  simple  fool, 

Power  o'er  a  sister  of  thy  rule? 

And  art  thou,  like  the  worldly  train, 

Subdued  by  splendours  light  and  vain?* 

XXII 

'No,  lady!  in  old  eyes  like  mine, 
Gauds  have  no  glitter,  gems  no  shine; 
Nor  grace  his  rank  attendants  vain, 
One  youthful  page  is  all  his  train. 
It  is  the  form,  the  eye,  the  word, 
The  bearing  of  that  stranger  lord ; 
His  stature,  manly,  bold,  and  tall. 
Built  like  a  castle's  battled  wall, 
340 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Yet  moulded  in  such  just  degrees, 
His  giant-strength  seems  lightsome  ease. 
Close  as  the  tendrils  of  the  vine 
His  locks  upon  his  forehead  twine, 
Jet-black  save  where  some  touch  of  grey 
Has  ta'en  the  youthful  hue  away. 
Weather  and  war  their  rougher  trace 
Have  left  on  that  majestic  face ;  — 
But  't  is  his  dignity  of  eye ! 
There,  if  a  suppliant,  would  I  fly. 
Secure,  'mid  danger,  wrongs,  and  grief, 
Of  sympathy,  redress,  relief  — 
That  glance,  if  guilty,  would  I  dread 
More  than  the  doom  that  spoke  me  dead !  * 
'Enough,  enough,'  the  Princess  cried, 
*'T  is  Scotland's  hope,  her  joy,  her  pride! 
To  meaner  front  was  ne'er  assigned 
Such  mastery  o'er  the  common  mind  — 
Bestowed  thy  high  designs  to  aid. 
How  long,  O  Heaven!  how  long  delayed!  — 
Haste,  Mona,  haste,  to  introduce 
My  darling  brother,  royal  Bruce!' 

XXIII 

They  met  like  friends  who  part  in  pain, 
And  meet  in  doubtful  hope  again. 
But  when  subdued  that  fitful  swell, 

341 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

The  Bruce  surveyed  the  humble  cell  — 
'And  this  is  thine,  poor  Isabel!  — 
That  pallet-couch  and  naked  wall, 
For  room  of  state  and  bed  of  pall ; 
For  costly  robes  and  jewels  rare, 
A  string  of  beads  and  zone  of  hair ; 
And  for  the  trumpet's  sprightly  call 
To  sport  or  banquet,  grove  or  hall, 
The  bell's  grim  voice  divides  thy  care, 
'Twixt  hours  of  penitence  and  prayer !  — 
O  ill  for  thee,  my  royal  claim 
From  the  First  David's  sainted  name! 
O  woe  for  thee,  that  while  he  sought 
His  right,  thy  brother  feebly  fought!' 

XXIV 

'Now  lay  these  vain  regrets  aside. 
And  be  the  unshaken  Bruce ! '  she  cried ; 

*  For  more  I  glory  to  have  shared 
The  woes  thy  venturous  spirit  dared, 
When  raising  first  thy  valiant  band 
In  rescue  of  thy  native  land, 
Than  had  fair  Fortune  set  me  down 
The  partner  of  an  empire's  crown. 
And  grieve  not  that  on  pleasure's  stream 
No  more  I  drive  in  giddy  dream, 
For  Heaven  the  erring  pilot  knew, 
34a 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

And  from  the  gulf  the  vessel  drew, 
Tried  me  with  judgments  stern  and  great, 
My  house's  ruin,  thy  defeat, 
Poor  Nigel's  death,  till  tamed  I  own 
My  hopes  are  fixed  on  Heaven  alone; 
Nor  e'er  shall  earthly  prospects  win 
My  heart  to  this  vain  world  of  sin.* 

XXV 

*Nay,  Isabel,  for  such  stern  choice 
First  wilt  thou  wait  thy  brother's  voice ; 
Then  ponder  if  in  convent  scene 
No  softer  thoughts  might  intervene  — 
Say  they  were  of  that  unknown  knight, 
Victor  in  Woodstock's  tourney-fight  — 
Nay,  if  his  name  such  blush  you  owe, 
Victorious  o'er  a  fairer  foe ! ' 
Truly  his  penetrating  eye 
Hath  caught  that  blush's  passing  dye,  — 
Like  the  last  beam  of  evening  thrown 
On  a  white  cloud,  —  just  seen  and  gone. 
Soon  with  calm  cheek  and  steady  eye 
The  princess  made  composed  reply: 

'  I  guess  my  brother's  meaning  well ; 
For  not  so  silent  is  the  cell 
But  we  have  heard  the  islesmen  all 
Arm  in  thy  cause  at  Ronald's  call, 
343 


THE  LORD   OF  THE  ISLES 

And  mine  eye  proves  that  knight  unknown 
And  the  brave  Island  Lord  are  one. 
Had  then  his  suit  been  earlier  made, 
In  his  own  name  with  thee  to  aid  — 
But  that  his  plighted  faith  forbade  — 
I  know  not  —  But  thy  page  so  near?  — 
This  is  no  tale  for  menial's  ear.' 

XXVI 

Still  stood  that  page,  as  far  apart 

As  the  small  cell  would  space  afford; 
With  dizzy  eye  and  bursting  heart 

He  leant  his  weight  on  Bruce's  sword. 
The  monarch's  mantle  too  he  bore, 
And  drew  the  fold  his  visage  o'er. 
'Fear  not  for  him  —  in  murderous  strife,* 
Said  Bruce,  'his  warning  saved  my  life; 
Full  seldom  parts  he  from  my  side, 
And  in  his  silence  I  confide, 
Since  he  can  tell  no  tale  again. 
He  is  a  boy  of  gentle  strain. 
And  I  have  purposed  he  shall  dwell 
In  Augustine  the  chaplain's  cell 
And  wait  on  thee,  my  Isabel.  — 
Mind  not  his  tears;  I've  seen  them  flow. 
As  in  the  thaw  dissolves  the  snow. 
*T  is  a  kind  youth,  but  fanciful, 
344 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Unfit  against  the  tide  to  pull, 

And  those  that  with  the  Bruce  would  sail 

Must  learn  to  strive  with  stream  and  gale. 

But  forward,  gentle  Isabel  — 

My  answer  for  Lord  Ronald  tell.' 


XXVII 

*This  answer  be  to  Ronald  given  — 
The  heart  he  asks  is  fixed  on  heaven. 
My  love  was  like  a  summer  flower 
That  withered  in  the  wintry  hour, 
Born  but  of  vanity  and  pride, 
And  with  these  sunny  visions  died. 
If  further  press  his  suit  —  then  say 
He  should  his  plighted  troth  obey. 
Troth  plighted  both  with  ring  and  word, 
And  sworn  on  crucifix  and  sword.  — 
O,  shame  thee,  Robert!  I  have  seen 
Thou  hast  a  woman's  guardian  been! 
Even  in  extremity's  dread  hour, 
When  pressed  on  thee  the  Southern  power, 
And  safety,  to  all  human  sight. 
Was  only  found  in  rapid  flight. 
Thou  heard 'st  a  wretched  female  plain 
In  agony  of  travail-pain. 
And  thou  didst  bid  thy  little  band 
345 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Upon  the  instant  turn  and  stand, ^ 
And  dare  the  worst  the  foe  might  do 
Rather  than,  like  a  knight  untrue, 
Leave  to  pursuers  merciless 
A  woman  in  her  last  distress. 
And  wilt  thou  now  deny  thine  aid 
To  an  oppressed  and  injured  maid, 
Even  plead  for  Ronald's  perfidy 
And  press  his  fickle  faith  on  me?  — 
So  witness  Heaven,  as  true  I  vow, 
Had  I  those  earthly  feelings  now 
Which  could  my  former  bosom  move 
Ere  taught  to  set  its  hopes  above, 
I  'd  spurn  each  proffer  he  could  bring 
Till  at  my  feet  he  laid  the  ring. 
The  ring  and  spousal  contract  both, 
And  fair  acquittal  of  his  oath. 
By  her  who  brooks  his  perjured  scorn, 
The  ill-requited  Maid  of  Lorn!* 

XXVIII 

With  sudden  impulse  forward  sprung 
The  page,  and  on  her  neck  he  hung ; 
Then,  recollected  instantly, 
His  head  he  stooped  and  bent  his  knee, 
Kissed  twice  the  hand  of  Isabel, 

•  See  Note  113. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Arose,  and  sudden  left  the  cell,  — 
The  princess,  loosened  from  his  hold, 
Blushed  angry  at  his  bearing  bold ; 

But  good  King  Robert  cried, 
*  Chafe  not  —  by  signs  he  speaks  his  mind, 
He  heard  the  plan  my  care  designed, 

Nor  could  his  transports  hide.  — 
But,  sister,  now  bethink  thee  well ; 
No  easy  choice  the  convent  cell ; 
Trust,  I  shall  play  no  tyrant  part, 
Either  to  force  thy  hand  or  heart, 
Or  suffer  that  Lord  Ronald  scorn 
Or  wrong  for  thee  the  Maid  of  Lorn. 
But  think,  —  not  long  the  time  has  been. 
That  thou  wert  wont  to  sigh  unseen, 
And  wouldst  the  ditties  best  approve 
That  told  some  lay  of  hapless  love. 
Now  are  thy  wishes  in  thy  power, 
And  thou  art  bent  on  cloister  bower! 
O,  if  our  Edward  knew  the  change. 
How  would  his  busy  satire  range, 
With  many  a  sarcasm  varied  still 
On  woman's  wish  and  woman's  will ! '  — 

XXIX 

'Brother,  I  well  believe,'  she  said, 
'Even  so  would  Edward's  part  be  played. 

347 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Kindly  in  heart,  in  word  severe, 

A  foe  to  thought  and  grief  and  fear, 

He  holds  his  humour  uncontrolled ; 

But  thou  art  of  another  mould. 

Say  then  to  Ronald,  as  I  say, 

Unless  before  my  feet  he  lay 

The  ring  which  bound  the  faith  he  swore, 

By  Edith  freely  yielded  o'er, 

He  moves  his  suit  to  me  no  more. 

Nor  do  I  promise,  even  if  now 

He  stood  absolved  of  spousal  vow, 

That  I  would  change  my  purpose  made 

To  shelter  me  in  holy  shade.  — 

Brother,  for  little  space,  farewell! 

To  other  duties  warns  the  bell.' 

XXX 

'Lost  to  the  world,'  King  Robert  said, 
When  he  had  left  the  royal  maid, 

*  Lost  to  the  world  by  lot  severe, 
O,  what  a  gem  lies  buried  here, 
Nipped  by  misfortune's  cruel  frost, 
The  buds  of  fair  affection  lost !  — 
But  what  have  I  with  love  to  do? 
Far  sterner  cares  my  lot  pursue. 
Pent  in  this  isle  we  may  not  lie, 
Nor  would  it  long  our  wants  supply. 
348 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Right  opposite,  the  mainland  towers 

Of  my  own  Turnberry  court  our  powers  — 

Might  not  my  father's  beadsman  hoar, 

Cuthbert,  who  dwells  upon  the  shore, 

Kindle  a  signal-flame  to  show 

The  time  propitious  for  the  blow? 

It  shall  be  so  —  some  friend  shall  bear 

Our  mandate  with  despatch  and  care; 

Edward  shall  find  the  messenger. 

That  fortress  ours,  the  island  fleet 

May  on  the  coast  of  Carrick  meet.  — 

O  Scotland !  shall  it  e'er  be  mine 

To  wreak  thy  wrongs  in  battle-line, 

To  raise  my  victor-head,  and  see 

Thy  hills,  thy  dales,  thy  people  free,  — 

That  glance  of  bliss  is  all  I  crave 

Betwixt  my  labours  and  my  grave!* 

Then  down  the  hill  he  slowly  went, 

Oft  pausing  on  the  steep  descent, 

And  reached  the  spot  where  his  bold  train 

Held  rustic  camp  upon  the  plain. 


CANTO  FIFTH 

I 

On  fair  Loch-Ranza  streamed  the  early  day, 
Thin  wreaths  of  cottage-smoke  are  upward  curled 
From  the  lone  hamlet  which  her  inland  bay 
And  circling  mountains  sever  from  the  world. 
And  there  the  fisherman  his  sail  unfurled, 
The  goat-herd  drove  his  kids  to  steep  Ben-Ghoil, 
Before  the  hut  the  dame  her  spindle  twirled, 
Courting  the  sunbeam  as  she  plied  her  toil,  — 
For,  wake  where'er  he  may,  man  wakes  to  care  and  coil. 

But  other  duties  called  each  convent  maid, 
Roused  by  the  summons  of  the  moss-grown  bell; 
Sung  were  the  matins  and  the  mass  was  said. 
And  every  sister  sought  her  separate  cell. 
Such  was  the  rule,  her  rosary  to  tell. 
And  Isabel  has  knelt  in  lonely  prayer; 
The  sunbeam  through  the  narrow  lattice  fell 
Upon  the  snowy  neck  and  long  dark  hair. 
As  stooped  her  gentle  head  in  meek  devotion  there. 

II 

She  raised  her  eyes,  that  duty  done, 
When  glanced  upon  the  pavement-stone, 
3SO 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Gemmed  and  enchased,  a  golden  ring, 
Bound  to  a  scroll  with  silken  string, 
With  few  brief  words  inscribed  to  tell, 
''This  for  the  Lady  Isabel.' 
Within  the  writing  farther  bore, 
'  'T  was  with  this  ring  his  plight  he  swore, 
With  this  his  promise  I  restore ; 
To  her  who  can  the  heart  command 
Well  may  I  yield  the  plighted  hand. 
And  O,  for  better  fortune  born, 
Grudge  not  a  passing  sigh  to  mourn 
Her  who  was  Edith  once  of  Lorn!' 
One  single  flash  of  glad  surprise 
Just  glanced  from  Isabel's  dark  eyes, 
But  vanished  in  the  blush  of  shame 
That  as  its  penance  instant  came. 
'  O  thought  unworthy  of  my  race ! 
Selfish,  ungenerous,  mean,  and  base, 
A  moment's  throb  of  joy  to  own 
That  rose  upon  her  hopes  o'erthrown!  — 
Thou  pledge  of  vows  too  well  believed, 
Of  man  ingrate  and  majd  deceived, 
Think  not  thy  lustre  here  shall  gain 
Another  heart  to  hope  in  vain ! 
For  thou  shalt  rest,  thou  tempting  gaud. 
Where  worldly  thoughts  are  overawed. 


351 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

And  worldly  splendours  sink  debased/ 
Then  by  the  cross  the  ring  she  placed. 

Ill 

Next  rose  the  thought,  —  its  owner  far, 
How  came  it  here  through  bolt  and  bar?  — 
But  the  dim  lattice  is  ajar. 
She  looks  abroad,  —  the  morning  dew 
A  light  short  step  had  brushed  anew, 

And  there  were  footprints  seen 
On  the  carved  buttress  rising  still, 
Till  on  the  mossy  window-sill 

Their  track  effaced  the  green. 
The  ivy  twigs  were  torn  and  frayed, 
As  if  some  climber's  steps  to  aid.  — 
But  who  the  hardy  messenger 
Whose  venturous  path  these  signs  infer?  — 

'Strange  doubts  are  mine!  —  Mona,  draw  nigh; 
Nought  'scapes  old  Mona's  curious  eye  — 
What  strangers,  gentle  mother,  say. 
Have  sought  these  holy  walls  to-day?* 

'None,  lady,  none  of  note  or  name; 
Only  your  brother's  foot-page  came 
At  peep  of  dawn  —  I  prayed  him  pass 
To  chapel  where  they  said  the  mass ; 
But  like  an  arrow  he  shot  by. 
And  tears  seemed  bursting  from  his  eye.* 
352 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

IV 

The  truth  at  once  on  Isabel 

As  darted  by  a  sunbeam  fell : 
"T  is  Edith's  self!  —  her  speechless  woe, 

Her  form,  her  looks,  the  secret  show!  — 

Instant,  good  Mona,  to  the  bay, 

And  to  my  royal  brother  say, 

I  do  conjure  him  seelc  my  cell 

With  that  mute  page  he  loves  so  well.' 
'What!  know'st  thou  not  his  warlike  host 

At  break  of  day  has  left  our  coast? 

My  old  eyes  saw  them  from  the  tower. 

At  eve  they  couched  in  greenwood  bower, 

At  dawn  a  bugle  signal  made 

By  their  bold  lord  their  ranks  arrayed ; 

Up  sprung  the  spears  through  bush  and  tree. 

No  time  for  benedicite ! 

Like  deer  that,  rousing  from  their  lair, 

Just  shake  the  dew-drops  from  their  hair 

And  toss  their  arm^d  crest  aloft. 

Such  matins  theirs ! '  —  '  Good  mother,  soft  — 

Where  does  my  brother  bend  his  way?'  — 
*As  I  have  heard,  for  Brodick  Bay, 

Across  the  isle  —  of  barks  a  score 

Lie  there,  't  is  said,  to  waft  them  o'er. 

On  sudden  news,  to  Carrick  shore.'  — 
«  353 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

*If  such  their  purpose,  deep  the  need,* 
Said  anxious  Isabel,  'of  speed! 
Call  Father  Augustine,  good  dame.'  — 
The  nun  obeyed,  the  father  came. 

V 

'Kind  father,  hie  without  delay 
Across  the  hills  to  Brodick  Bay. 
This  message  to  the  Bruce  be  given; 
I  pray  him,  by  his  hopes  of  Heaven, 
That  till  he  speak  with  me  he  stay ! 
Or,  if  his  haste  brook  no  delay, 
That  he  deliver  on  my  suit 
Into  thy  charge  that  stripling  mute. 
Thus  prays  his  sister  Isabel 
For  causes  more  than  she  may  tell  — • 
Away,  good  father!  and  take  heed 
That  life  and  death  are  on  thy  speed.* 
His  cowl  the  good  old  priest  did  on, 
Took  his  piked  staff  and  sandalled  shoon, 
And,  like  a  palmer  bent  by  eld. 
O'er  moss  and  moor  his  journey  held. 

VI 

Heavy  and  dull  the  foot  of  age. 
And  rugged  was  the  pilgrimage; 
But  none  were  there  beside  whose  care 
354 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Might  such  important  message  bear. 
Through  birchen  copse  he  wandered  slow, 
Stunted  and  sapless,  thin  and  low; 
By  many  a  mountain  stream  he  passed, 
From  the  tall  cliffs  in  tumult  cast, 
Dashing  to  foam  their  waters  dun 
And  sparkling  in  the  summer  sun. 
Round  his  grey  head  the  wild  curlew 
In  many  a  fearless  circle  flew. 
O'er  chasms  he  passed  where  fractures  wide 
Craved  wary  eye  and  ample  stride ;  ^ 
He  crossed  his  brow  beside  the  stone 
Where  Druids  erst  heard  victims  groan, ^ 
And  at  the  cairns  upon  the  wild 
O'er  many  a  heathen  hero  piled. 
He  breathed  a  timid  prayer  for  those 
Who  died  ere  Shiloh's  sun  arose. 
Beside  Macfarlane's  Cross  he  staid, 
There  told  his  hours  within  the  shade 
And  at  the  stream  his  thirst  allayed. 
Thence  onward  journeying  slowly  still. 
As  evening  closed  he  reached  the  hill 
Where,  rising  through  the  woodland  green, 
Old  Brodick's  Gothic  towers  were  seen.' 
From  Hastings  late,  their  English  lord, 
Douglas  had  won  them  by  the  sword. 

*  See  Note  114.  *  See  Note  115.  •  See  Note  n6. 

355 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

The  sun  that  sunk  behind  the  isle 
Now  tinged  them  with  a  parting  smile. 

VII 

But  though  the  beams  of  light  decay 
'T  was  bustle  all  in  Brodick  Bay. 
The  Bruce's  followers  crowd  the  shore, 
And  boats  and  barges  some  unmoor, 
Some  raise  the  sail,  some  seize  the  oar; 
Their  eyes  oft  turned  where  glimmered  far 
What  might  have  seemed  an  early  star 
On  heaven's  blue  arch  save  that  its  light 
Was  all  too  flickering,  fierce,  and  bright. 
Far  distant  in  the  south  the  ray 
Shone  pale  amid  retiring  day, 

But  as,  on  Carrick  shore, 
Dim  seen  in  outline  faintly  blue, 
The  shades  of  evening  closer  drew, 
It  kindled  more  and  more. 
The  monk's  slow  steps  now  press  the  sands, 
And  now  amid  a  scene  he  stands 

Full  strange  to  churchman's  eye; 
Warriors,  who,  arming  for  the  fight, 
Rivet  and  clasp  their  harness  light, 
And  twinkling  spears,  and  axes  bright. 
And  helmets  flashing  high. 
Oft  too  with  unaccustomed  ears 
356 


THE  LORD   OF  THE  ISLES 

A  language  much  unmeet  he  hears,^ 

While,  hastening  all  on  board, 
As  stormy  as  the  swelling  surge 
That  mixed  its  roar,  the  leaders  urge 
Their  followers  to  the  ocean  verge 
With  many  a  haughty  word. 


VIII 

Through  that  wild  throng  the  father  passed, 
And  reached  the  royal  Bruce  at  last. 
He  leant  against  a  stranded  boat 
That  the  approaching  tide  must  float, 
And  counted  every  rippling  wave 
As  higher  yet  her  sides  they  lave. 
And  oft  the  distant  fire  he  eyed, 
And  closer  yet  his  hauberk  tied. 
And  loosened  in  its  sheath  his  brand. 
Edward  and  Lennox  were  at  hand, 
Douglas  and  Ronald  had  the  care 
The  soldiers  to  the  barks  to  share.  — 
The  monk  approached  and  homage  paid; 
'And  art  thou  come,'  King  Robert  said, 
'So  far  to  bless  us  ere  we  part?'  — 
'My  liege,  and  with  a  loyal  heart!  — 
But  other  charge  I  have  to  tell,'  — 

»  See  Note  117, 

357 


THE  LORD   OF  THE  ISLES 

And  spoke  the  hest  of  Isabel. 
'Now  by  Saint  Giles,'  the  monarch  cried, 
'This  moves  me  much!  —  this  morning  tide 

I  sent  the  stripling  to  Saint  Bride 

With  my  commandment  there  to  bide.' 
'Thither  he  came  the  portress  showed, 

But  there,  my  liege,  made  brief  abode.*  — 


IX 

"T  was  I,'  said  Edward,  'found  employ 
Of  nobler  import  for  the  boy. 
Deep  pondering  in  my  anxious  mind, 
A  fitting  messenger  to  find 
To  bear  thy  written  mandate  o'er 
To  Cuthbert  on  the  Carrick  shore, 
I  chanced  at  early  dawn  to  pass 
The  chapel  gate  to  snatch  a  mass. 
I  found  the  stripling  on  a  tomb 
Low-seated,  weeping  for  the  doom 
That  gave  his  youth  to  convent  gloom. 
I  told  my  purpose,  and  his  eyes 
Flashed  joyful  at  the  glad  surprise. 
He  bounded  to  the  skiff,  the  sail 
Was  spread  before  a  prosperous  gale, 
And  well  my  charge  he  hath  obeyed  ; 
For  see !  the  ruddy  signal  made 
358 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

That  Clifford  with  his  merry-men  all 
Guards  carelessly  our  father's  hall,'  ^ 


'O  wild  of  thought  and  hard  of  heart!* 
Answered  the  monarch,  *on  a  part 
Of  such  deep  danger  to  employ 
A  mute,  an  orphan,  and  a  boy! 
Unfit  for  flight,  unfit  for  strife. 
Without  a  tongue  to  plead  for  life! 
Now,  were  my  right  restored  by  Heaven, 
Edward,  my  crown  I  would  have  given 
Ere,  thrust  on  such  adventure  wild, 
I  perilled  thus  the  helpless  child.' 
Offended  half  and  half  submiss,  — 

'Brother  and  liege,  of  blame  like  this,* 
Edward  replied,  'I  little  dreamed. 
A  stranger  messenger,  I  deemed. 
Might  safest  seek  the  beadsman's  cell 
Where  all  thy  squires  are  known  so  well. 
Noteless  his  presence,  sharp  his  sense, 
His  imperfection  his  defence. 
If  seen,  none  can  his  errand  guess; 
If  ta'en,  his  words  no  tale  express  — 
Methinks,  too,  yonder  beacon's  shine 
Might  expiate  greater  fault  than  mine.* 

t  See  Note  ii8. 

359 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

'Rash,'  said  King  Robert,  'was  the  deed  — 
But  it  is  done.  Embark  with  speed !  — 
Good  father,  say  to  Isabel 
How  this  unhappy  chance  befell; 
If  well  we  thrive  on  yonder  shore, 
Soon  shall  my  care  her  page  restore. 
Our  greeting  to  our  sister  bear, 
And  think  of  us  in  mass  and  prayer.' 

XI 

'Aye!'  said  the  priest,  'while  this  poor  hand 
Can  chalice  raise  or  cross  command. 
While  my  old  voice  has  accents'  use, 
Can  Augustine  forget  the  Bruce!' 
Then  to  his  side  Lord  Ronald  pressed, 
And  whispered,  'Bear  thou  this  request, 
That  when  by  Bruce's  side  I  fight 
For  Scotland's  crown  and  freedom's  right, 
The  princess  grace  her  knight  to  bear 
Some  token  of  her  favouring  care ; 
It  shall  be  shown  where  England's  best 
May  shrink  to  see  it  on  my  crest. 
And  for  the  boy  —  since  weightier  care 
For  royal  Bruce  the  times  prepare. 
The  helpless  youth  is  Ronald's  charge, 
His  couch  my  plaid,  his  fence  my  targe.' 
He  ceased ;  for  many  an  eager  hand 
360 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Had  urged  the  barges  from  the  strand. 
Their  number  was  a  score  and  ten, 
They  bore  thrice  threescore  chosen  men. 
With  such  small  force  did  Bruce  at  last 
The  die  for  death  or  empire  cast! 

XII 

Now  on  the  darkening  main  afloat, 
Ready  and  manned  rocks  every  boat ; 
Beneath  their  oars  the  ocean's  might 
Was  dashed  to  sparks  of  glimmering  light. 
Faint  and  more  faint,  as  off  they  bore, 
Their  armour  glanced  against  the  shore, 
And,  mingled  with  the  dashing  tide, 
Their  murmuring  voices  distant  died.  — 
*God  speed  them!'  said  the  priest,  as  dark 
On  distant  billows  glides  each  bark; 
*0  Heaven!  when  swords  for  freedom  shine 
And  monarch's  right,  the  cause  is  thine! 
Edge  doubly  every  patriot  blow! 
Beat  down  the  banners  of  the  foe ! 
And  be  it  to  the  nations  known. 
That  victory  is  from  God  alone!* 
As  up  the  hill  his  path  he  drew, 
He  turned  his  blessings  to  renew, 
Oft  turned  till  on  the  darkened  coast 
All  traces  of  their  course  were  lost ; 
361 


THE  LORD   OF  THE  ISLES 

Then  slowly  bent  to  Brodick  tower 
To  shelter  for  the  evening  hour. 

XIII 

In  night  the  fairy  prospects  sink 
Where  Cumray's  isles  with  verdant  link 
Close  the  fair  entrance  of  the  Clyde ; 
The  woods  of  Bute,  no  more  descried, 
Are  gone  —  and  on  the  placid  sea 
The  rowers  ply  their  task  with  glee, 
While  hands  that  knightly  lances  bore 
Impatient  aid  the  labouring  oar. 
The  half-faced  moon  shone  dim  and  pale, 
And  glanced  against  the  whitened  sail; 
But  on  that  ruddy  beacon-light 
Each  steersman  kept  the  helm  aright. 
And  oft,  for  such  the  king's  command. 
That  all  at  once  might  reach  the  strand, 
From  boat  to  boat  loud  shout  and  hail 
Warned  them  to  crowd  or  slacken  sail. 
South  and  by  west  the  armada  bore. 
And  near  at  length  the  Carrick  shore. 
As  less  and  less  the  distance  grows. 
High  and  more  high  the  beacon  rose; 
The  light  that  seemed  a  twinkling  star 
Now  blazed  portentous,  fierce,  and  far. 
Dark-red  the  heaven  above  it  glowed, 
362 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Dark-red  the  sea  beneath  it  flowed, 
Red  rose  the  rocks  on  ocean's  brim, 
In  blood-red  light  her  islets  swim ; 
Wild  scream  the  dazzled  sea-fowl  gave, 
Dropped  from  their  crags  on  plashing  wave. 
The  deer  to  distant  covert  drew, 
The  black-cock  deemed  it  day  and  crew. 
Like  some  tall  castle  given  to  flame, 
O'er  half  the  land  the  lustre  came. 
'Now,  good  my  liege  and  brother  sage, 
What  think  ye  of  mine  elfin  page?'  — 
'Row  on!'  the  noble  king  replied, 
'We'll  learn  the  truth,  whate'er  betide; 
Yet  sure  the  beadsman  and  the  child 
Could  ne'er  have  waked  that  beacon  wild.' 


XIV 

With  that  the  boats  approached  the  land, 
But  Edward's  grounded  on  the  sand; 
The  eager  knight  leaped  in  the  sea 
Waist-deep,  and  first  on  shore  was  he, 
Though  every  barge's  hardy  band 
Contended  which  should  gain  the  land, 
When  that  strange  light,  which  seen  afar 
Seemed  steady  as  the  polar  star, 
Now,  like  a  prophet's  fiery  chair, 
363 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Seemed  travelling  the  realms  of  air. 

Wide  o'er  the  sky  the  splendour  glows 

As  that  portentous  meteor  rose ; 

Helm,  axe,  and  falchion  glittered  bright, 

And  in  the  red  and  dusky  light 

His  comrade's  face  each  warrior  saw, 

Nor  marvelled  it  was  pale  with  awe. 

Then  high  in  air  the  beams  were  lost. 

And  darkness  sunk  upon  the  coast.  — 

Ronald  to  Heaven  a  prayer  addressed. 

And  Douglas  crossed  his  dauntless  breast; 

'Saint  James  protect  us!'  Lennox  cried, 
But  reckless  Edward  spoke  aside, 

'Deem'st  thou,  Kirkpatrick,  in  that  flame 
Red  Corny n's  angry  spirit  came. 
Or  would  thy  dauntless  heart  endure 
Once  more  to  make  assurance  sure?* 

'Hush!'  said  the  Bruce;  *we  soon  shall  know 
If  this  be  sorcerer's  empty  show 
Or  stratagem  of  southern  foe. 
The  moon  shines  out  —  upon  the  sand 
Let  every  leader  rank  his  band.* 


XV 

Faintly  the  moon's  pale  beams  supply 
That  ruddy  light's  unnatural  dye; 
364 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

The  dubious  cold  reflection  lay 
On  the  wet  sands  and  quiet  bay. 
Beneath  the  rocks  King  Robert  drew 
His  scattered  files  to  order  due, 
Till  shield  compact  and  serried  spear 
In  the  cool  light  shone  blue  and  clear. 
Then  down  a  path  that  sought  the  tide 
That  speechless  page  was  seen  to  glide ; 
He  knelt  him  lowly  on  the  sand, 
And  gave  a  scroll  to  Robert's  hand. 
'A  torch,'  the  monarch  cried.   'What,  ho! 
Now  shall  we  Cuthbert's  tidings  know.' 
But  evil  news  the  letters  bear, 
The  Clifford's  force  was  strong  and  ware, 
Augmented  too,  that  very  morn. 
By  mountaineers  who  came  with  Lorn. 
Long  harrowed  by  oppressor's  hand, 
Courage  and  faith  had  fled  the  land, 
And  over  Carrick,  dark  and  deep, 
Had  sunk  dejection's  iron  sleep.  — 
Cuthbert  had  seen  that  beacon  flame, 
Unwitting  from  what  source  it  came. 
Doubtful  of  perilous  event, 
Edward's  mute  messenger  he  sent. 
If  Bruce  deceived  should  venture  o'er, 
To  warn  him  from  the  fatal  shore. 

36s 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

XVI 

As  round  the  torch  the  leaders  crowd, 
Bruce  read  these  chilling  news  aloud. 
'What  council,  nobles,  have  we  now?  — 
To  ambush  us  in  greenwood  bough. 
And  take  the  chance  which  fate  may  send 
To  bring  our  enterprise  to  end? 
Or  shall  we  turn  us  to  the  main 
As  exiles,  and  embark  again?* 
Answered  fierce  Edward,  'Hap  what  may, 
In  Carrick  Carrick's  lord  must  stay. 
I  would  not  minstrels  told  the  tale 
Wildfire  or  meteor  made  us  quail.' 
Answered  the  Douglas,  '  If  my  liege 
May  win  yon  walls  by  storm  or  siege. 
Then  were  each  brave  and  patriot  heart 
Kindled  of  new  for  loyal  part.' 
Answered  Lord  Ronald,  'Not  for  shame 
Would  I  that  aged  Torquil  came 
And  found,  for  all  our  empty  boast, 
Without  a  blow  we  fled  the  coast. 
I  will  not  credit  that  this  land, 
So  famed  for  warlike  heart  and  hand, 
The  nurse  of  Wallace  and  of  Bruce, 
Will  long  with  tyrants  hold  a  truce.' 
*Prove  we  our  fate:  the  brunt  we'll  bide!* 
366 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

So  Boyd  and  Haye  and  Lennox  cried ; 
So  said,  so  vowed  the  leaders  all ; 
So  Bruce  resolved :  '  And  in  my  hall 
Since  the  bold  Southern  make  their  home, 
The  hour  of  payment  soon  shall  come, 
When  with  a  rough  and  rugged  host 
Clifford  may  reckon  to  his  cost. 
Meantime,  through  well-known  bosk  and  dell 
I  '11  lead  where  we  may  shelter  well.* 

XVII 

Now  ask  you  whence  that  wondrous  light,* 

Whose  fairy  glow  beguiled  their  sight?  — 

It  ne'er  was  known  —  yet  grey-haired  eld 

A  superstitious  credence  held 

That  never  did  a  mortal  hand 

Wake  its  broad  glare  on  Carrick  strand ; 

Nay,  and  that  on  the  selfsame  night 

When  Bruce  crossed  o'er  still  gleams  the  light. 

Yearly  it  gleams  o'er  mount  and  moor 

And  glittering  wave  and  crimsoned  shore  — 

But  whether  beam  celestial,  lent 

By  Heaven  to  aid  the  king's  descent, 

Or  fire  hell-kindled  from  beneath 

To  lure  him  to  defeat  and  death. 

Or  were  it  but  some  meteor  strange 

»  See  Note  119. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Of  such  as  oft  through  midnight  range, 
Startling  the  traveller  late  and  lone, 
I  know  not  —  and  it  ne'er  was  known. 

XVIII 

Now  up  the  rocky  pass  they  drew, 
And  Ronald,  to  his  promise  true, 
Still  made  his  arm  the  stripling's  stay. 
To  aid  him  on  the  rugged  way. 

*  Now  cheer  thee,  simple  Amadine ! 
Why  throbs  that  silly  heart  of  thine?'  — 
That  name  the  pirates  to  their  slave  — 
In  Gaelic  't  is  the  Changeling  —  gave  — 

'Dost  thou  not  rest  thee  on  my  arm? 
Do  not  my  plaid-folds  hold  thee  warm? 
Hath  not  the  wild  bull's  treble  hide 
This  targe  for  thee  and  me  supplied? 
Is  not  Clan-Colla's  sword  of  steel? 
And,  trembler,  canst  thou  terror  feel? 
Cheer  thee,  and  still  that  throbbing  heart; 
From  Ronald's  guard  thou  shalt  not  part.'  — 
O!  many  a  shaft  at  random  sent 
Finds  mark  the  archer  little  meant ! 
And  many  a  word  at  random  spoken 
May  soothe  or  wound  a  heart  that's  broken! 
Half  soothed,  half  grieved,  half  terrified, 
Close  drew  the  page  to  Ronald's  side; 
368 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

A  wild  delirious  thrill  of  joy 
Was  in  that  hour  of  agony, 
As  up  the  steepy  pass  he  strove, 
Fear,  toil,  and  sorrow  lost  in  love! 

XIX 

The  barrier  of  that  iron  shore, 
The  rock's  steep  ledge,  is  now  climbed  o'er; 
And  from  the  castle's  distant  wall,^ 
From  tower  to  tower  the  warders  call : 
The  sound  swings  over  land  and  sea, 
And  marks  a  watchful  enemy.  — 
They  gained  the  Chase,  a  wide  domain 
Left  for  the  castle's  sylvan  reign  — 
Seek  not  the  scene;  the  axe,  the  plough. 
The  boor's  dull  fence,  have  marred  it  now, 
But  then  soft  swept  in  velvet  green 
The  plain  with  many  a  glade  between, 
Whose  tangled  alleys  far  invade 
The  depth  of  the  brown  forest  shade. 
Here  the  tall  fern  obscured  the  lawn, 
Fair  shelter  for  the  sportive  fawn; 
There,  tufted  close  with  copsewood  green, 
Was  many  a  swelling  hillock  seen ; 
And  all  around  was  verdure  meet 
For  pressure  of  the  fairies'  feet. 

*  See  Note  120. 
49  369 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

The  glossy  holly  loved  the  park, 
The  yew-tree  lent  its  shadow  dark, 
And  many  an  old  oak,  worn  and  bare, 
With  all  its  shivered  boughs  was  there. 
Lovely  between,  the  moonbeams  fell 
On  lawn  and  hillock,  glade  and  dell. 
The  gallant  monarch  sighed  to  see 
These  glades  so  loved  in  childhood  free, 
Bethinking  that  as  outlaw  now 
He  ranged  beneath  the  forest  bough. 

XX 

Fast  o'er  the  moonlight  Chase  they  sped. 
Well  knew  the  band  that  measured  tread 
When,  in  retreat  or  in  advance. 
The  serried  warriors  move  at  once; 
And  evil  were  the  luck  if  dawn 
Descried  them  on  the  open  lawn. 
Copses  they  traverse,  brooks  they  cross, 
Strain  up  the  bank  and  o'er  the  moss. 
From  the  exhausted  page's  brow 
Cold  drops  of  toil  are  streaming  now; 
With  effort  faint  and  lengthened  pause, 
His  weary  step  the  stripling  draws. 
'  Nay,  droop  not  yet ! '  the  warrior  said ; 
'Come,  let  me  give  thee  ease  and  aid! 
Strong  are  mine  arms,  and  little  care 
370 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

A  weight  so  slight  as  thine  to  bear.  — 

What!  wilt  thou  not?  —  capricious  boy!  — 

Then  thine  own  limbs  and  strength  employ. 

Pass  but  this  night  and  pass  thy  care, 

I  '11  place  thee  with  a  lady  fair, 

Where  thou  shalt  tune  thy  lute  to  tell 

How  Ronald  loves  fair  Isabel!' 

Worn  out,  disheartened,  and  dismayed, 

Here  Amadine  let  go  the  plaid ; 

His  trembling  limbs  their  aid  refuse, 

He  sunk  among  the  midnight  dews! 

XXI 

What  may  be  done?  —  the  night  is  gone  — 
The  Bruce's  band  moves  swiftly  on  — 
Eternal  shame  if  at  the  brunt 
Lord  Ronald  grace  not  battle's  front!  — 
'See  yonder  oak  within  whose  trunk 
Decay  a  darkened  cell  hath  sunk ; 
Enter  and  rest  thee  there  a  space, 
Wrap  in  my  plaid  thy  limbs,  thy  face. 
I  will  not  be,  believe  me,  far, 
But  must  not  quit  the  ranks  of  war. 
Well  will  I  mark  the  bosky  bourne. 
And  soon,  to  guard  thee  hence,  return.  — 
Nay,  weep  not  so,  thou  simple  boy! 
But  sleep  in  peace  and  wake  in  joy.' 
371 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

In  sylvan  lodging  close  bestowed, 
He  placed  the  page  and  onward  strode 
With  strength  put  forth  o'er  moss  and  brook, 
And  soon  the  marching  band  o'ertook. 

XXII 

Thus  strangely  left,  long  sobbed  and  wept 

The  page  till  wearied  out  he  slept  — 

A  rough  voice  waked  his  dream  —  '  Nay,  here, 

Here  by  this  thicket  passed  the  deer  — 

Beneath  that  oak  old  Ryno  staid  — 

What  have  we  here?  —  A  Scottish  plaid 

And  in  its  folds  a  stripling  laid?  — 

•  Come  forth!  thy  name  and  business  tell! 
What,  silent?  —  then  I  guess  thee  well, 
The  spy  that  sought  old  Cuthbert's  cell. 
Wafted  from  Arran  yester  morn  — 
Come,  comrades,  we  will  straight  return. 
Our  lord  may  choose  the  rack  should  teach 
To  this  young  lurcher  use  of  speech. 
Thy  bow-string,  till  I  bind  him  fast.*  -^ 

'  Nay,  but  he  weeps  and  stands  aghast ; 
Unbound  we'll  lead  him,  fear  it  not; 
'T  is  a  fair  stripling,  though  a  Scot.' 
The  hunters  to  the  castle  sped. 
And  there  the  hapless  captive  led. 


372 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

XXIII 

Stout  Clifford  in  the  castle-court 
Prepared  him  for  the  morning  sport; 
And  now  with  Lorn  held  deep  discourse, 
Now  gave  command  for  hound  and  horse. 
War-steeds  and  palfreys  pawed  the  ground, 
And  many  a  deer-dog  howled  around. 
To  Amadine  Lorn's  well-known  word 
Replying  to  that  Southern  lord, 
Mixed  with  this  clanging  din,  might  seem 
The  phantasm  of  a  fevered  dream. 
The  tone  upon  his  ringing  ears 
Came  like  the  sounds  which  fancy  hears 
When  in  rude  waves  or  roaring  winds 
Some  words  of  woe  the  muser  finds, 
Until  more  loudly  and  more  near 
Their  speech  arrests  the  page's  ear. 

XXIV 

'And  was  she  thus,'  said  Clifford,  'lost? 
The  priest  should  rue  it  to  his  cost! 
What  says  the  monk?'  —  'The  holy  sire 
Owns  that  in  masquer's  quaint  attire 
She  sought  his  skiff  disguised,  unknown 
To  all  except  to  him  alone. 
But,  says  the  priest,  a  bark  from  Lorn 
373 


THE  LORD   OF  THE  ISLES 

Laid  them  aboard  that  very  morn, 

And  pirates  seized  her  for  their  prey. 

He  proffered  ransom  gold  to  pay 

And  they  agreed  —  but  ere  told  o'er, 

The  winds  blow  loud,  the  billows  roar ; 

They  severed  and  they  met  no  more. 

He  deems  —  such  tempests  vexed  the  coast  — 

Ship,  crew,  and  fugitive  were  lost. 

So  let  it  be,  with  the  disgrace 

And  scandal  of  her  lofty  race! 

Thrice  better  she  had  ne'er  been  born 

Than  brought  her  infamy  on  Lorn !  * 

XXV 

Lord  Clifford  now  the  captive  spied ;  — 
'Whom,  Herbert,  hast  thou  there?'  he  cried. 
*A  spy  we  seized  within  the  Chase, 

A  hollow  oak  his  lurking-place.'  — 
'What  tidings  can  the  youth  afford?  '  — 
'He  plays  the  mute.'  —  'Then  noose  a  cord  — 

Unless  brave  Lorn  reverse  the  doom 

For  his  plaid's  sake.'  —  'Clan-Colla's  loom,* 

Said  Lorn,  whose  careless  glances  trace 

Rather  the  vesture  than  the  face, 
'Clan-Colla's  dames  such  tartans  twine; 

Wearer  nor  plaid  claims  care  of  mine. 

Give  him,  if  my  advice  you  crave, 
374 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

His  own  scathed  oak ;  and  let  him  wave 
In  air  unless,  by  terror  wrung, 
A  frank  confession  find  his  tongue.  — - 
Nor  shall  he  die  without  his  rite; 
Thou,  Angus  Roy,  attend  the  sight, 
And  give  Clan-Colla's  dirge  thy  breath 
As  they  convey  him  to  his  death.'  — 
*0  brother!  cruel  to  the  last!' 
Through  the  poor  captive's  bosom  passed 
The  thought,  but,  to  his  purpose  true. 
He  said  not,  though  he  sighed,  'Adieu!' 

XXVI 

And  will  he  keep  his  purpose  still 
In  sight  of  that  last  closing  ill. 
When  one  poor  breath,  one  single  word, 
May  freedom,  safety,  life,  afford? 
Can  he  resist  the  instinctive  call 
For  life  that  bids  us  barter  all?  — 
Love,  strong  as  death,  his  heart  hath  steeled, 
His  nerves  hath  strung  —  he  will  not  yield ! 
Since  that  poor  breath,  that  little  word. 
May  yield  Lord  Ronald  to  the  sword.  — 
Clan-Colla's  dirge  is  pealing  wide. 
The  griesly  headsman  's  by  his  side ; 
Along  the  greenwood  Chase  they  bend, 
And  now  their  march  has  ghastly  end! 
375 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

That  old  and  shattered  oak  beneath, 
They  destine  for  the  place  of  death. 
What  thoughts  are  his,  while  all  in  vain 
His  eye  for  aid  explores  the  plain? 
What  thoughts,  while  with  a  dizzy  ear 
He  hears  the  death-prayer  muttered  near? 
And  must  he  die  such  death  accurst, 
Or  will  that  bosom-secret  burst? 
Cold  on  his  brow  breaks  terror's  dew, 
His  trembling  lips  are  livid  blue; 
The  agony  of  parting  life 
Has  nought  to  match  that  moment's  strife! 

XXVII 

But  other  witnesses  are  nigh, 
Who  mock  at  fear,  and  death  defy! 
Soon  as  the  dire  lament  was  played 
It  waked  the  lurking  ambuscade. 
The  Island  Lord  looked  forth  and  spied 
The  cause,  and  loud  in  fury  cried, 
*  By  Heaven,  they  lead  the  page  to  die. 
And  mock  me  in  his  agony! 
They  shall  abye  it!'  —  On  his  arm 
Bruce  laid  strong  grasp,  '  They  shall  not  harm 
A  ringlet  of  the  stripling's  hair; 
But  till  I  give  the  word,  forbear.  — 
Douglas,  lead  fifty  of  our  force 
376 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Up  yonder  hollow  water-course, 
And  couch  thee  midway  on  the  wold, 
Between  the  flyers  and  their  hold : 
A  spear  above  the  copse  displayed. 
Be  signal  of  the  ambush  made.  — 
Edward,  with  forty  spearmen  straight 
Through  yonder  copse  approach  the  gate. 
And  when  thou  hear'st  the  battle-din, 
Rush  forward  and  the  passage  win. 
Secure  the  drawbridge,  storm  the  port, 
And  man  and  guard  the  castle-court.  — 
The  rest  move  slowly  forth  with  me, 
In  shelter  of  the  forest-tree, 
Till  Douglas  at  his  post  I  see.' 

XXVIII 

Like  war-horse  eager  to  rush  on. 
Compelled  to  wait  the  signal  blown. 
Hid,  and  scarce  hid,  by  greenwood  bough, 
Trembling  with  rage  stands  Ronald  now, 
And  in  his  grasp  his  sword  gleams  blue. 
Soon  to  be  dyed  with  deadlier  hue.  — 
Meanwhile  the  Bruce  with  steady  eye 
Sees  the  dark  death-train  moving  by, 
And  heedful  measures  oft  the  space 
The  Douglas  and  his  band  must  trace. 
Ere  they  can  reach  their  destined  ground. 
377 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Now  sinks  the  dirge's  wailing  sound, 
Now  cluster  round  the  direful  tree 
That  slow  and  solemn  company, 
While  hymn  mistuned  and  muttered  prayer 
The  victim  for  his  fate  prepare.  — 
What  glances  o'er  the  greenwood  shade? 
The  spear  that  marks  the  ambuscade !  — 
*  Now,  noble  chief !   I  leave  thee  loose ; 
Upon  them,  Ronald!'  said  the  Bruce. 

XXIX 

'The  Bruce!  the  Bruce!'  to  well-known  cry 
His  native  rocks  and  woods  reply. 

'The  Bruce!  the  Bruce!'  in  that  dread  word 
The  knell  of  hundred  deaths  was  heard. 
The  astonished  Southern  gazed  at  first 
Where  the  wild  tempest  was  to  burst 
That  waked  in  that  presaging  name. 
Before,  behind,  around  it  came! 
Half-armed,  surprised,  on  every  side 
Hemmed  in,  hewed  down,  they  bled  and  died. 
Deep  in  the  ring  the  Bruce  engaged, 
And  fierce  Clan-Colla's  broadsword  raged! 
Full  soon  the  few  who  fought  were  sped, 
Nor  better  was  their  lot  who  fled 
And  met  'mid  terror's  wild  career 
The  Douglas's  redoubted  spear! 
378 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Two  hundred  yeomen  on  that  morn 
The  castle  left,  and  none  return. 

XXX 

Not  on  their  flight  pressed  Ronald's  brand, 
A  gentler  duty  claimed  his  hand. 
He  raised  the  page  where  on  the  plain 
His  fear  had  sunk  him  with  the  slain : 
And  twice  that  morn  surprise  well  near 
Betrayed  the  secret  kept  by  fear; 
Once  when  with  life  returning  came 
To  the  boy's  lip  Lord  Ronald's  name, 
And  hardly  recollection  drowned 
The  accents  in  a  murmuring  sound ; 
And  once  when  scarce  he  could  resist 
The  chieftain's  care  to  loose  the  vest 
Drawn  tightly  o'er  his  labouring  breast. 
But  then  the  Bruce's  bugle  blew, 
For  martial  work  was  yet  to  do. 


XXXI 

A  harder  task  fierce  Edward  waits. 
Ere  signal  given  the  castle  gates 

His  fury  had  assailed ; 
Such  was  his  wonted  reckless  mood, 
Yet  desperate  valour  oft  made  good, 
379 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Even  by  its  daring,  venture  rude 

Where  prudence  might  have  failed. 
Upon  the  bridge  his  strength  he  threw, 
And  struck  the  iron  chain  in  two, 

By  which  its  planks  arose; 
The  warder  next  his  axe's  edge 
Struck  down  upon  the  threshold  ledge, 
'Twixt  door  and  post  a  ghastly  wedge ! 

The  gate  they  may  not  close. 
Well  fought  the  Southern  in  the  fray, 
ClifiFord  and  Lorn  fought  well  that  day, 
But  stubborn  Edward  forced  his  way 

Against  a  hundred  foes. 
Loud  came  the  cry,  'The  Bruce!  the  Bruce!' 
No  hope  or  in  defence  or  truce,  — 

Fresh  combatants  pour  in; 
Mad  with  success  and  drunk  with  gore, 
They  drive  the  struggling  foe  before 

And  ward  on  ward  they  win. 
Unsparing  was  the  vengeful  sword, 
And  limbs  were  lopped  and  life-blood  poured, 
The  cry  of  death  and  conflict  roared, 

And  fearful  was  the  din ! 
The  startling  horses  plunged  and  flung, 
Clamoured  the  dogs  till  turrets  rung, 

Nor  sunk  the  fearful  cry 
Till  not  a  foeman  was  there  found 
380 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Alive  save  those  who  on  the  ground 
Groaned  in  their  agony! 

XXXII 

The  valiant  Cliflford  is  no  more; 

On  Ronald's  broadsword  streamed  his  gore. 

But  better  hap  had  he  of  Lorn, 

Who,  by  the  foeman  backward  borne, 

Yet  gained  with  slender  train  the  port 

Where  lay  his  bark  beneath  the  fort. 

And  cut  the  cable  loose. 
Short  were  his  shrift  in  that  debate. 
That  hour  of  fury  and  of  fate, 

If  Lorn  encountered  Bruce! 
Then  long  and  loud  the  victor  shout 
From  turret  and  from  tower  rung  out, 

The  rugged  vaults  replied ; 
And  from  the  donjon  tower  on  high 
The  men  of  Carrick  may  descry 
Saint  Andrew's  cross  in  blazonry 

Of  silver  waving  wide ! 

XXXIII 

The  Bruce  hath  won  his  father's  hall !  ^ 
'Welcome,  brave  friends  and  comrades  all, 
Welcome  to  mirth  and  joy! 

•  See  Note  121. 
381 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

The  first,  the  last,  is  welcome  here, 
From  lord  and  chieftain,  prince  and  peer, 

To  this  poor  speechless  boy. 
Great  God !  once  more  my  sire's  abode 
Is  mine  —  behold  the  floor  I  trode 

In  tottering  infancy! 
And  there  the  vaulted  arch  whose  sound 
Echoed  my  joyous  shout  and  bound 
In  boyhood,  and  that  rung  around 

To  youth's  unthinking  glee! 
O,  first  to  thee,  all-gracious  Heaven, 
Then  to  my  friends,  my  thanks  be  given !  *  - 
He  paused  a  space,  his  brow  he  crossed  — • 
Then  on  the  board  his  sword  he  tossed. 
Yet  steaming  hot ;  with  Southern  gore 
From  hilt  to  point  't  was  crimsoned  o'er. 

XXXIV 

'Bring  here,'  he  said,  'the  mazers  four^ 
My  noble  fathers  loved  of  yore. 
Thrice  let  them  circle  round  the  board, 
The  pledge,  fair  Scotland's  rights  restored! 
And  he  whose  lip  shall  touch  the  wine 
Without  a  vow  as  true  as  mine. 
To  hold  both  lands  and  life  at  nought 
Until  her  freedom  shall  be  bought,  — 

>  See  Note  122. 
382 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Be  brand  of  a  disloyal  Scot 
And  lasting  infamy  his  lot! 
Sit,  gentle  friends!  our  hour  of  glee 
Is  brief,  we'll  spend  it  joyously! 
Blithest  of  all  the  sun's  bright  beams, 
When  betwixt  storm  and  storm  he  gleams. 
Well  is  our  country's  work  begun, 
But  more,  far  more,  must  yet  be  done. 
Speed  messengers  the  country  through ; 
Arouse  old  friends  and  gather  new ;  ^ 
Warn  Lanark's  knights  to  gird  their  mail, 
Rouse  the  brave  sons  of  Teviotdale, 
Let  Ettrick's  archers  sharp  their  darts, 
The  fairest  forms,  the  truest  hearts!^ 
Call  all,  call  all!  from  Reedswair-Path 
To  the  wild  confines  of  Cape-Wrath ; 
Wide  let  the  news  through  Scotland  ring,  - 
The  Northern  Eagle  claps  his  wing!' 

»  See  Note  123.  •  See  Note  124. 


CANTO  SIXTH 

I 

O  WHO  that  shared  them  ever  shall  forget 
The  emotions  of  the  spirit-rousing  time, 
When  breathless  in  the  mart  the  couriers  met 
Early  and  late,  at  evening  and  at  prime; 
When  the  loud  cannon  and  the  merry  chime 
Hailed  news  on  news,  as  field  on  field  was  won, 
When  Hope,  long  doubtful,  soared  at  length  sublime, 
And  our  glad  eyes,  awake  as  day  begun. 
Watched  Joy's  broad  banner  rise  to  meet  the  rising  sun! 

O  these  were  hours  when  thrilling  joy  repaid 
A  long,  long  course  of  darkness,  doubts,  and  fears! 
The  heart-sick  faintness  of  the  hope  delayed. 
The  waste,  the  woe,  the  bloodshed,  and  the  tears, 
That  tracked  with  terror  twenty  rolling  years, 
All  was  forgot  in  that  blithe  jubilee! 
Her  downcast  eye  even  pale  Affliction  rears, 
To  sigh  a  thankful  prayer  amid  the  glee 
That  hailed  the  Despot's  fall,  and  peace  and  liberty! 

Such  news  o'er  Scotland's  hills  triumphant  rode 
When  'gainst  the  invaders  turned  the  battle's  scale, 
384 


THE  LORD   OF  THE  ISLES 

When  Bruce 's  banner  had  victorious  flowed 
O'er  Loudoun's  mountain  and  in  Ury's  vale;^ 
When  English  blood  oft  deluged  Douglas-dale,^ 
And  fiery  Edward  routed  stout  Saint  John,^ 
When  Randolph's  war-cry  swelled  the  southern  gale,  * 
And  many  a  fortress,  town,  and  tower  was  won, 
And  Fame  still  sounded  forth  fresh  deeds  of  glory  done. 

11 

Blithe  tidings  flew  from  baron's  tower 
To  peasant's  cot,  to  forest-bower, 
And  waked  the  solitary  cell 
Where  lone  Saint  Bride's  recluses  dwell. 
Princess  no  more,  fair  Isabel, 

A  votaress  of  the  order  now, 
Say,  did  the  rule  that  bid  thee  wear 
Dim  veil  and  woollen  scapulare, 
And  reft  thy  locks  of  dark-brown  hair, 

That  stern  and  rigid  vow. 
Did  it  condemn  the  transport  high 
Which  glistened  in  thy  watery  eye 
When  minstrel  or  when  palmer  told 
Each  fresh  exploit  of  Bruce  the  bold?  — 
And  whose  the  lovely  form  that  shares 
Thy  anxious  hopes,  thy  fears,  thy  prayers? 
No  sister  she  of  convent  shade ; 

•  See  Note  125.        •  See  Note  126.        »  See  Note  127.       *  See  Note  128. 
49  385 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

So  say  these  locks  in  lengthened  braid, 
So  say  the  blushes  and  the  sighs, 
The  tremors  that  unbidden  rise. 
When,  mingled  with  the  Bruce's  fame. 
The  brave  Lord  Ronald's  praises  came. 

Ill 

Believe,  his  father's  castle  won 
And  his  bold  enterprise  begun. 
That  Bruce's  earliest  cares  restore 
The  speechless  page  to  Arran's  shore: 
Nor  think  that  long  the  quaint  disguise 
Concealed  her  from  a  sister's  eyes; 
And  sister-like  in  love  they  dwell 
In  that  lone  convent's  silent  cell. 
There  Bruce's  slow  assent  allows 
Fair  Isabel  the  veil  and  vows; 
And  there,  her  sex's  dress  regained. 
The  lovely  Maid  of  Lorn  remained. 
Unnamed,  unknown,  while  Scotland  far 
Resounded  with  the  din  of  war ; 
And  many  a  month  and  many  a  day 
In  calm  seclusion  wore  away. 

IV 

These  days,  these  months,  to  years  had  worn 
When  tidings  of  high  weight  were  borne 
386 


THE  LORD   OF  THE  ISLES 

To  that  lone  island's  shore; 
Of  all  the  Scottish  conquests  made 
By  the  First  Edward's  ruthless  blade 

His  son  retained  no  more, 
Northward  of  Tweed,  but  Stirling's  towers,* 
Beleaguered  by  King  Robert's  powers; 

And  they  took  term  of  truce, 
If  England's  king  should  not  relieve 
The  siege  ere  John  the  Baptist's  eve. 

To  yield  them  to  the  Bruce. 
England  was  roused  —  on  every  side 
Courier  and  post  and  herald  hied 

To  summon  prince  and  peer. 
At  Berwick-bounds  to  meet  their  liege,^ 
Prepared  to  raise  fair  Stirling's  siege 

With  buckler,  brand,  and  spear. 
The  term  was  nigh  —  they  mustered  fast, 
By  beacon  and  by  bugle-blast 

Forth  marshalled  for  the  field; 
There  rode  each  knight  of  noble  name, 
There  England's  hardy  archers  came. 
The  land  they  trode  seemed  all  on  flame 

With  banner,  blade,  and  shield! 
And  not  famed  England's  powers  alone, 
Renowned  in  arms,  the  summons  own ; 

For  Neustria's  knights  obeyed, 

>  See  Note  129.  *  See  Note  130. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Gascogne  hath  lent  her  horsemen  good, 
And  Cambria,  but  of  late  subdued, 
Sent  forth  her  mountain-multitude,^ 
And  Connoght  poured  from  waste  and  wood 
Her  hundred  tribes,  whose  sceptre  rude 
Dark  Eth  O'Connor  swayed.^ 

V 

Right  to  devoted  Caledon 

The  storm  of  war  rolls  slowly  on 

With  menace  deep  and  dread ; 
So  the  dark  clouds  with  gathering  power 
Suspend  awhile  the  threatened  shower, 
Till  every  peak  and  summit  lower 

Round  the  pale  pilgrim's  head. 
Not  with  such  pilgrim's  startled  eye 
King  Robert  marked  the  tempest  nigh! 

Resolved  the  brunt  to  bide. 
His  royal  summons  warned  the  land 
That  all  who  owned  their  king's  command 
Should  instant  take  the  spear  and  brand 

To  combat  at  his  side. 
O,  who  may  tell  the  sons  of  fame 
That  at  King  Robert's  bidding  came 

To  battle  for  the  right! 
From  Cheviot  to  the  shores  of  Ross, 

>  See  Note  131.  '  See  Note  13a. 

388 


THE  LORD   OF  THE  ISLES 

From  Solway-Sands  to  Marshal's-Moss, 

All  bouned  them  for  the  fight. 
Such  news  the  royal  courier  tells 
Who  came  to  rouse  dark  Arran's  dells; 
But  farther  tidings  must  the  ear 
Of  Isabel  in  secret  hear. 
These  in  her  cloister  walk  next  morn 
Thus  shared  she  with  the  Maid  of  Lorn:  — 

VI 

'My  Edith,  can  I  tell  how  dear 
Our  intercourse  of  hearts  sincere 

Hath  been  to  Isabel?  — 
Judge  then  the  sorrow  of  my  heart 
When  I  must  say  the  words,  We  part ! 

The  cheerless  convent-cell 
Was  not,  sweet  maiden,  made  for  thee; 
Go  thou  where  thy  vocation  free 

On  happier  fortunes  fell. 
Nor,  Edith,  judge  thyself  betrayed, 
Though  Robert  knows  that  Lorn's  high  maid 
And  his  poor  silent  page  were  one. 
Versed  in  the  fickle  heart  of  man, 
Earnest  and  anxious  hath  he  looked 
How  Ronald's  heart  the  message  brooked 
That  gave  him  with  her  last  farewell 
The  charge  of  Sister  Isabel, 
389 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

To  think  upon  thy  better  right 
And  keep  the  faith  his  promise  pHght. 
Forgive  him  for  thy  sister's  sake 
At  first  if  vain  repinings  wake  — 

Long  since  that  mood  is  gone: 
Now  dwells  he  on  thy  juster  claims, 
And  oft  his  breach  of  faith  he  blames  — 

Forgive  him  for  thine  own ! '  — 

VII 

*No!  never  to  Lord  Ronald's  bower 
Will  I  again  as  paramour  '  — 
'Nay,  hush  thee,  too  impatient  maid, 
Until  my  final  tale  be  said !  — 
The  good  King  Robert  would  engage 
Edith  once  more  his  elfin  page, 
By  her  own  heart  and  her  own  eye 
Her  lover's  penitence  to  try  — 
Safe  in  his  royal  charge  and  free, 
Should  such  thy  final  purpose  be, 
Again  unknown  to  seek  the  cell. 
And  live  and  die  with  Isabel.' 
Thus  spoke  the  maid  —  King  Robert's  eye 
Might  have  some  glance  of  policy; 
Dunstaffnage  had  the  monarch  ta'en. 
And  Lorn  had  owned  King  Robert's  reign; 
Her  brother  had  to  England  fled, 
390 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

And  there  in  banishment  was  dead ; 
Ample,  through  exile,  death,  and  flight, 
O'er  tower  and  land  was  Edith's  right; 
This  ample  right  o'er  tower  and  land 
Were  safe  in  Ronald's  faithful  hand. 

VIII 

Embarrassed  eye  and  blushing  cheek 
Pleasure  and  shame  and  fear  bespeak! 
Yet  much  the  reasoning  Edith  made: 
'Her  sister's  faith  she  must  upbraid, 
Who  gave  such  secret,  dark  and  dear, 
In  council  to  another's  ear. 
Why  should  she  leave  the  peaceful  cell?  — 
How  should  she  part  with  Isabel  ?  — 
How  wear  that  strange  attire  agen?  — 
How  risk  herself  'midst  martial  men?  — 
And  how  be  guarded  on  the  way?  — 
At  least  she  might  entreat  delay.' 
Kind  Isabel  with  secret  smile 
Saw  and  forgave  the  maiden's  wile, 
Reluctant  to  be  thought  to  move 
At  the  first  call  of  truant  love. 

IX 

O,  blame  her  not!  —  when  zephyrs  wake 

The  aspen's  trembling  leaves  must  shake; 

391 


THE  LORD   OF  THE  ISLES 

When  beams  the  sun  through  April's  shower 
It  needs  must  bloom,  the  violet  flower; 
And  Love,  howe'er  the  maiden  strive, 
Must  with  reviving  hope  revive! 
A  thousand  soft  excuses  came 
To  plead  his  cause  'gainst  virgin  shame. 
Pledged  by  their  sires  in  earliest  youth, 
He  had  her  plighted  faith  and  truth  — 
Then,  't  was  her  liege's  strict  command, 
And  she  beneath  his  royal  hand 
A  ward  in  person  and  in  land :  — 
And,  last,  she  was  resolved  to  stay 
Only  brief  space  —  one  little  day  — 
Close  hidden  in  her  safe  disguise 
From  all,  but  most  from  Ronald's  eyes  — 
But  once  to  see  him  more !  —  nor  blame 
Her  wish  —  to  hear  him  name  her  name !  — 
Then  to  bear  back  to  solitude 
The  thought  he  had  his  falsehood  rued! 
But  Isabel,  who  long  had  seen 
Her  pallid  cheek  and  pensive  mien, 
And  well  herself  the  cause  might  know, 
Though  innocent,  of  Edith's  woe. 
Joyed,  generous,  that  revolving  time 
Gave  means  to  expiate  the  crime. 
High  glowed  her  bosom  as  she  said, 
'Well  shall  her  sufferings  be  repaid!' 
392 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Now  came  the  parting  hour  —  a  band 
From  Arran's  mountains  left  the  land; 
Their  chief,  Fitz-Louis,^  had  the  care 
The  speechless  Amadine  to  bear 
To  Bruce  with  honour,  as  behoved 
To  page  the  monarch  dearly  loved. 

X 

The  king  had  deemed  the  maiden  bright 

Should  reach  him  long  before  the  fight, 

But  storms  and  fate  her  course  delay; 

It  was  on  eve  of  battle-day 

When  o'er  the  Gillie's-hill  she  rode. 

The  landscape  like  a  furnace  glowed, 

And  far  as  e'er  the  eye  was  borne 

The  lances  waved  like  autumn-corn. 

In  battles  four  beneath  their  eye 

The  forces  of  King  Robert  lie.^ 

And  one  below  the  hill  was  laid. 

Reserved  for  rescue  and  for  aid ; 

And  three  advanced  formed  vaward-line, 

'Twixt  Bannock's  brook  and  Ninian's  shrine. 

Detached  was  each,  yet  each  so  nigh 

As  well  might  mutual  aid  supply. 

Beyond,  the  Southern  host  appears,' 

A  boundless  wilderness  of  spears, 

»  See  Note  133.  «  See  Note  134.  •  See  Note  13s. 

393 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Whose  verge  or  rear  the  anxious  eye 
Strove  far,  but  strove  in  vain,  to  spy. 
Thick  flashing  in  the  evening  beam, 
Glaives,  lances,  bills,  and  banners  gleam; 
And  where  the  heaven  joined  with  the  hill, 
Was  distant  armour  flashing  still, 
So  wide,  so  far,  the  boundless  host 
Seemed  in  the  blue  horizon  lost. 

XI 

Down  from  the  hill  the  maiden  passed, 
At  the  wild  show  of  war  aghast; 
And  traversed  first  the  rearward  host, 
Reserved  for  aid  where  needed  most. 
The  men  of  Carrick  and  of  Ayr, 
Lennox  and  Lanark  too,  were  there, 

And  all  the  western  land ; 
With  these  the  valiant  of  the  Isles 
Beneath  their  chieftains  ranked  their  files  * 

In  many  a  plaided  band. 
There  in  the  centre  proudly  raised, 
The  Bruce's  royal  standard  blazed, 
And  there  Lord  Ronald's  banner  bore 
A  galley  driven  by  sail  and  oar. 
A  wild  yet  pleasing  contrast  made 
Warriors  in  mail  and  plate  arrayed 

•  See  Note  136. 

394 


THE  LORD   OF  THE  ISLES 

With  the  plumed  bonnet  and  the  plaid 

By  these  Hebrideans  worn; 
But  O,  unseen  for  three  long  years, 
Dear  was  the  garb  of  mountaineers 

To  the  fair  Maid  of  Lorn! 
For  one  she  looked  —  but  he  was  far 
Busied  amid  the  ranks  of  war  — 
Yet  with  affection's  troubled  eye 
She  marked  his  banner  boldly  fly, 
Gave  on  the  countless  foe  a  glance. 
And  thought  on  battle's  desperate  chance. 

XII 

To  centre  of  the  vaward-line 
Fitz-Louis  guided  Amadine. 
Armed  all  on  foot,  that  host  appears 
A  serried  mass  of  glimmering  spears. 
There  stood  the  Marchers'  warlike  band, 
The  warriors  there  of  Lodon's  land  ; 
Ettrick  and  Liddell  bent  the  yew, 
A  band  of  archers  fierce  though  few; 
The  men  of  Nith  and  Annan's  vale. 
And  the  bold  Spears  of  Teviotdale ;  — 
The  dauntless  Douglas  these  obey, 
And  the  young  Stuart's  gentle  sway. 
Northeastward  by  Saint  Ninian's  shrine. 
Beneath  fierce  Randolph's  charge,  combine 
395 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

The  warriors  whom  the  hardy  North 
From  Tay  to  Sutherland  sent  forth. 
The  rest  of  Scotland's  war-array 
With  Edward  Bruce  to  westward  lay, 
Where  Bannock  with  his  broken  bank 
And  deep  ravine  protects  their  flank. 
Behind  them,  screened  by  sheltering  wood, 
The  gallant  Keith,  Lord  Marshal,  stood: 
His  men-at-arms  bare  mace  and  lance, 
And  plumes  that  wave  and  helms  that  glance. 
Thus  fair  divided  by  the  king. 
Centre  and  right  and  leftward  wing 
Composed  his  front ;  nor  distant  far 
Was  strong  reserve  to  aid  the  war. 
And  't  was  to  front  of  this  array 
Her  guide  and  Edith  made  their  way. 

XIII 

Here  must  they  pause;  for,  in  advance 
As  far  as  one  might  pitch  a  lance, 
The  monarch  rode  along  the  van,^ 
The  foe's  approaching  force  to  scan. 
His  line  to  marshal  and  to  range. 
And  ranks  to  square,  and  fronts  to  change. 
Alone  he  rode  —  from  head  to  heel 
Sheathed  in  his  ready  arms  of  steel ; 

>  See  Note  137. 


\ 


THE  LORD   OF  THE  ISLES 

Nor  mounted  yet  on  war-horse  wight, 

But,  till  more  near  the  shock  of  fight, 

Reining  a  palfrey  low  and  light. 

A  diadem  of  gold  was  set 

Above  his  bright  steel  basinet. 

And  clasped  within  its  glittering  twine 

Was  seen  the  glove  of  Argentine ; 

Truncheon  or  leading  staff  he  lacks, 

Bearing  instead  a  battle-axe. 

He  ranged  his  soldiers  for  the  fight 

Accoutred  thus,  in  open  sight 

Of  either  host.  —  Three  bowshots  far. 

Paused  the  deep  front  of  England's  war, 

And  rested  on  their  arms  awhile, 

To  close  and  rank  their  warlike  file. 

And  hold  high  council  if  that  night 

Should  view  the  strife  or  dawning  light. 

XIV 

0»  gay  yet  fearful  to  behold. 

Flashing  with  steel  and  rough  with  gold. 

And  bristled  o'er  with  bills  and  spears, 
With  plumes  and  pennons  waving  fair, 
Was  that  bright  battle-front!  for  there 

Rode  England's  king  and  peers: 
And  who,  that  saw  that  monarch  ride, 
His  kingdom  battled  by  his  side, 
397 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Could  then  his  direful  doom  foretell !  — 

Fair  was  his  seat  in  knightly  selle, 

And  in  his  sprightly  eye  was  set 

Some  spark  of  the  Plantagenet. 

Though  light  and  wandering  was  his  glance, 

It  flashed  at  sight  of  shield  and  lance. 

'Know'st  thou,'  he  said,  'De  Argentine, 
Yon  knight  who  marshals  thus  their  line?'  — 

'The  tokens  on  his  helmet  tell 
The  Bruce,  my  liege:  I  know  him  well.'  — 

'And  shall  the  audacious  traitor  brave 
The  presence  where  our  banners  wave?'  — 

'So  please  my  liege,'  said  Argentine, 

'Were  he  but  horsed  on  steed  like  mine. 
To  give  him  fair  and  knightly  chance, 
I  would  adventure  forth  my  lance.'  — 

'In  battle-day,'  the  king  replied, 

'  Nice  tourney  rules  are  set  aside.  — 
Still  must  the  rebel  dare  our  wrath? 
Set  on  him  —  Sweep  him  from  our  path !  * 
And  at  King  Edward's  signal  soon 
Dashed  from  the  ranks  Sir  Henry  Boune. 

XV 

Of  Hereford's  high  blood  he  came, 
A  race  renowned  for  knightly  fame. 
He  burned  before  his  monarch's  eye 
398 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

To  do  some  deed  of  chivalry. 
He  spurred  his  steed,  he  couched  his  lance, 
And  darted  on  the  Bruce  at  once. 
As  motionless  as  rocks  that  bide 
The  wrath  of  the  advancing  ride, 
The  Bruce  stood  fast.  —  Each  breast  beat  high 
And  dazzled  was  each  gazing  eye  — 
The  heart  had  hardly  time  to  think, 
The  eyelid  scarce  had  time  to  wink, 
While  on  the  king,  like  flash  of  flame, 
Spurred  to  full  speed  the  war-horse  came! 
The  partridge  may  the  falcon  mock, 
If  that  slight  palfrey  stand  the  shock  — 
But,  swerving  from  the  knight's  career. 
Just  as  they  met,  Bruce  shunned  the  spear. 
Onward  the  baffled  warrior  bore 
His  course  —  but  soon  his  course  was  o'er !  — 
High  in  his  stirrups  stood  the  king. 
And  gave  his  battle-axe  the  swing. 
Right  on  De  Boune,  the  whiles  he  passed. 
Fell  that  stern  dint  —  the  first  —  the  last !  — 
Such  strength  upon  the  blow  was  put 
The  helmet  crashed  like  hazel-nut ; 
The  axe-shaft  with  its  brazen  clasp 
Was  shivered  to  the  gauntlet  grasp. 
Springs  from  the  blow  the  startled  horse, 
Drops  to  the  plain  the  lifeless  corse ; 
399 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

First  of  that  fatal  field,  how  soon, 
How  sudden,  fell  the  fierce  De  Boune! 

XVI 

One  pitying  glance  the  monarch  sped 
Where  on  the  field  his  foe  lay  dead ; 
Then  gently  turned  his  palfrey's  head, 
And,  pacing  back  his  sober  way, 
Slowly  he  gained  his  own  array. 
There  round  their  king  the  leaders  crowd, 
And  blame  his  recklessness  aloud 
That  risked  'gainst  each  adventurous  spear 
A  life  so  valued  and  so  dear. 
His  broken  weapon's  shaft  surveyed 
The  king,  and  careless  answer  made, 
*My  loss  may  pay  my  folly's  tax; 
I've  broke  my  trusty  battle-axe.' 
*T  was  then  Fitz-Louis  bending  low 
Did  Isabel's  commission  show; 
Edith  disguised  at  distance  stands, 
And  hides  her  blushes  with  her  hands. 
The  monarch's  brow  has  changed  its  hue, 
Away  the  gory  axe  he  threw, 
While  to  the  seeming  page  he  drew, 

Clearing  war's  terrors  from  his  eye. 
Her  hand  with  gentle  ease  he  took 
With  such  a  kind  protecting  look 
400 


THE  LORD   OF  THE  ISLES 

As  to  a  weak  and  timid  boy 
Might  speak  that  elder  brother's  care 
And  elder  brother's  love  were  there. 

XVII 

'Fear  not,'  he  said,  'young  Amadine!' 
Then  whispered,  'Still  that  name  be  thine. 
Fate  plays  her  wonted  fantasy, 
Kind  Amadine,  with  thee  and  me, 
And  sends  thee  here  in  doubtful  hour. 
But  soon  we  are  beyond  her  power; 
For  on  this  chosen  battle-plain, 
Victor  or  vanquished,  I  remain. 
Do  thou  to  yonder  hill  repair ; 
The  followers  of  our  host  are  there, 
And  all  who  may  not  weapons  bear.  — 
Fitz-Louis,  have  him  in  thy  care.  — 
Joyful  we  meet,  if  all  go  well ; 
If  not,  in  Arran's  holy  cell 
Thou  must  take  part  with  Isabel; 
For  brave  Lord  Ronald  too  hath  sworn, 
Not  to  regain  the  Maid  of  Lorn  — 
The  bliss  on  earth  he  covets  most  — 
Would  he  forsake  his  battle-post. 
Or  shun  the  fortune  that  may  fall 
To  Bruce,  to  Scotland,  and  to  all.  — 
But,  hark!  some  news  these  trumpets  tell; 
40  401 


m\u  mc'"-.  sii^E  mm  umr 


i<?  n 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Forgive  my  haste  —  farewell !  —  farewell ! ' 
And  in  a  lower  voice  he  said, 
*Be  of  good  cheer  —  farewell,  sweet  maid!' 

XVIII 

'What  train  of  dust,  with  trumpet-sound 
And  glimmering  spears,  is  wheeling  round 
Our  leftward  flank? '^  the  monarch  cried 
To  Moray's  Earl  who  rode  beside. 

*Lo!  round  thy  station  pass  the  foes! 
Randolph,  thy  wreath  hath  lost  a  rose.* 
The  Earl  his  visor  closed,  and  said, 

'My  wreath  shall  bloom,  or  life  shall  fade.  — 
Follow,  my  household ! '  and  they  go 
Like  lightning  on  the  advancing  foe. 

'My  liege,'  said  noble  Douglas  then, 

'Earl  Randolph  has  but  one  to  ten: 
Let  me  go  forth  his  band  to  aid ! ' 

*  Stir  not.  The  error  he  hath  made, 
Let  him  amend  it  as  he  may ; 
I  will  not  weaken  mine  array.' 
Then  loudly  rose  the  conflict-cry. 
And  Douglas's  brave  heart  swelled  high,  — 

'My  liege,'  he  said,  'with  patient  ear 
I  must  not  Moray's  death-knell  hear!'  — 

'Then  go  —  but  speed  thee  back  again.' 

»  See  Note  138. 
402 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Forth  sprung  the  Douglas  with  his  train: 
But  when  they  won  a  rising  hill 
He  bade  his  followers  hold  them  still.  — 
'See,  see!  the  routed  Southern  fly! 
The  Earl  hath  won  the  victory. 
Lo !  where  yon  steeds  run  masterless, 
His  banner  towers  above  the  press. 
Rein  up;  our  presence  would  impair 
The  fame  we  come  too  late  to  share.' 
Back  to  the  host  the  Douglas  rode, 
And  soon  glad  tidings  are  abroad 
That,  Dayncourt  by  stout  Randolph  slain, 
His  followers  fled  with  loosened  rein.  — 
That  skirmish  closed  the  busy  day, 
And  couched  in  battle's  prompt  array, 
Each  army  on  their  weapons  lay. 

XIX 

It  was  a  night  of  lovely  June, 

High  rode  in  cloudless  blue  the  moon, 

Demayet  smiled  beneath  her  ray; 
Old  Stirling's  towers  arose  in  light, 
And,  twined  in  links  of  silver  bright. 

Her  winding  river  lay. 
Ah!  gentle  planet!  other  sight 
Shall  greet  thee,  next  returning  night, 
Of  broken  arms  and  banners  tore, 
403 


THE  LORD   OF  THE  ISLES 

And  marshes  dark  with  human  gore, 

And  piles  of  slaughtered  men  and  horse, 

And  Forth  that  floats  the  frequent  corse, 

And  many  a  wounded  wretch  to  plain 

Beneath  thy  silver  light  in  vain ! 

But  now  from  England's  host  the  cry 

Thou  hear'st  of  wassail  revelry, 

While  from  the  Scottish  legions  pass 

The  murmured  prayer,  the  early  mass !  — 

Here,  numbers  had  presumption  given ; 

There,  bands  o'ermatched  sought  aid  from  Heaven. 

XX 

On  Gillie's-hill,  whose  height  commands 
The  battle-field,  fair  Edith  stands 
With  serf  and  page  unfit  for  war, 
To  eye  the  conflict  from  afar. 
O,  with  what  doubtful  agony 
She  sees  the  dawning  tint  the  sky!  — 
Now  on  the  Ochils  gleams  the  sun. 
And  glistens  now  Demayet  dun; 

Is  it  the  lark  that  carols  shrill, 
Is  it  the  bittern's  early  hum? 

No!  —  distant  but  increasing  still. 

The  trumpet's  sound  swells  up  the  hill, 
With  the  deep  murmur  of  the  drum. 
Responsive  from  the  Scottish  host, 
404 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Pipe-clang  and  bugle-sound  were  tossed,^ 
His  breast  and  brow  each  soldier  crossed 

And  started  from  the  ground ; 
Armed  and  arrayed  for  instant  fight, 
Rose  archer,  spearman,  squire  and  knight, 
And  in  the  pomp  of  battle  bright 

The  dread  battalia  frowned. 

XXI 

Now  onward  and  in  open  view 

The  countless  ranks  of  England  drew,^ 

Dark  rolling  like  the  ocean-tide 

When  the  rough  west  hath  chafed  his  pride, 

And  his  deep  roar  sends  challenge  wide 

To  all  that  bars  his  way! 
In  front  the  gallant  archers  trode. 
The  men-at-arms  behind  them  rode, 
And  midmost  of  the  phalanx  broad 

The  monarch  held  his  sway. 
Beside  him  many  a  war-horse  fumes, 
Around  him  waves  a  sea  of  plumes. 
Where  many  a  knight  in  battle  known, 
And  some  who  spurs  had  first  braced  on 
And  deemed  that  fight  should  see  them  won, 

King  Edward's  hests  obey. 
De  Argentine  attends  his  side, 

*  See  Note  139,  «  See  Note  140. 


THE  LORD   OF  THE  ISLES 

With  stout  De  Valence,  Pembroke's  pride, 
Selected  champions  from  the  train 
To  wait  upon  his  bridle-rein. 
Upon  the  Scottish  foe  he  gazed  — 
At  once  before  his  sight  amazed 

Sunk  banner,  spear,  and  shield ; 
Each  weapon-point  is  downward  sent, 
Each  warrior  to  the  ground  is  bent. 

'The  rebels,  Argentine,  repent! 

For  pardon  they  have  kneeled.*  — 

*Ay !  —  but  they  bend  to  other  powers, 
And  other  pardon  sue  than  ours! 
See  where  yon  barefoot  abbot  stands  ^ 
And  blesses  them  with  lifted  hands! 
Upon  the  spot  where  they  have  kneeled 
These  men  will  die  or  win  the  field.*  — 

'Then  prove  we  if  they  die  or  win! 
Bid  Gloster's  Earl  the  fight  begin.' 

XXII 

Earl  Gilbert  waved  his  truncheon  high 
Just  as  the  Northern  ranks  arose, 

Signal  for  England's  archery 
To  halt  and  bend  their  bows. 

Then  stepped  each  yeoman  forth  a  pace. 

Glanced  at  the  intervening  space, 

«  See  Note  141. 
406 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

And  raised  his  left  hand  high ; 
To  the  right  ear  the  cords  they  bring  — 
At  once  ten  thousand  bow-strings  ring, 

Ten  thousand  arrows  fly! 
Nor  paused  on  the  devoted  Scot 
The  ceaseless  fury  of  their  shot ; 

As  fiercely  and  as  fast 
Forth  whistling  came  the  grey-goose  wing 
As  the  wild  hailstones  pelt  and  ring 

Adown  December's  blast. 
Nor  mountain  targe  of  tough  bull-hide, 
Nor  lowland  mail,  that  storm  may  bide; 
Woe,  woe  to  Scotland's  bannered  pride. 

If  the  fell  shower  may  last! 
Upon  the  right  behind  the  wood, 
Each  by  his  steed  dismounted  stood 

The  Scottish  chivalry ;  — 
With  foot  in  stirrup,  hand  on  mane, 
Fierce  Edward  Bruce  can  scarce  restrain 
His  own  keen  heart,  his  eager  train. 
Until  the  archers  gained  the  plain ; 

Then,  'Mount,  ye  gallants  free!' 
He  cried ;  and  vaulting  from  the  ground 
His  saddle  every  horseman  found, 
On  high  their  glittering  crests  they  toss. 
As  springs  the  wild-fire  from  the  moss; 
The  shield  hangs  down  on  every  breast, 
407 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Each  ready  lance  is  in  the  rest, 

And  loud  shouts  Edward  Bruce, 
'Forth,  Marshal!  on  the  peasant  foe! 

We  '11  tame  the  terrors  of  their  bow, 
And  cut  the  bow-string  loose ! '  ^ 

XXIII 

Then  spurs  were  dashed  in  chargers'  flanks, 
They  rushed  among  the  archer  ranks, 
No  spears  were  there  the  shock  to  let, 
No  stakes  to  turn  the  charge  were  set. 
And  how  shall  yeoman's  armour  slight 
Stand  the  long  lance  and  mace  of  might? 
Or  what  may  their  short  swords  avail 
'Gainst  barbed  horse  and  shirt  of  mail? 
Amid  their  ranks  the  chargers  sprung, 
High  o'er  their  heads  the  weapons  swung, 
And  shriek  and  groan  and  vengeful  shout 
Give  note  of  triumph  and  of  rout! 
Awhile  with  stubborn  hardihood 
Their  English  hearts  the  strife  made  good. 
Borne  down  at  length  on  every  side, 
Compelled  to  flight  they  scatter  wide.  — 
Let  stags  of  Sherwood  leap  for  glee, 
And  bound  the  deer  of  Dallom-Lee! 
The  broken  vows  of  Bannock's  shore 

•  See  Note  142. 
408 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Shall  in  the  greenwood  ring  no  more! 
Round  Wakefield's  merry  May-pole  now 
The  maids  may  twine  the  summer  bough. 
May  northward  look  with  longing  glance 
For  those  that  wont  to  lead  the  dance, 
For  the  blithe  archers  look  in  vain ! 
Broken,  dispersed,  in  flight  o'erta'en, 
Pierced  through,  trode  down,  by  thousands  slain, 
They  cumber  Bannock's  bloody  plain.  _ 

XXIV 

The  king  with  scorn  beheld  their  flight. 
'Are  these,'  he  said,  'our  yeomen  wight? 
Each  braggart  churl  could  boast  before 
Twelve  Scottish  lives  his  baldric  bore !  ^ 
Fitter  to  plunder  chase  or  park 
Than  make  a  manly  foe  their  mark,  — 
Forward,  each  gentleman  and  knight!  ' 
Let  gentle  blood  show  generous  might 
And  chivalry  redeem  the  fight  1 ' 
To  rightward  of  the  wild  affray, 
The  field  showed  fair  and  level  way; 

But  in  mid-space  the  Bruce's  care 
Had  bored  the  ground  with  many  a  pit, 
With  turf  and  brushwood  hidden  yet, 

That  formed  a  ghastly  snare. 

'  See  Note  143. 
409 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Rushing,  ten  thousand  horsemen  came, 
With  spears  in  rest  and  hearts  on  flame 

That  panted  for  the  shock! 
With  blazing  crests  and  banners  spread, 
And  trumpet-clang  and  clamour  dread, 
The  wide  plain  thundered  to  their  tread 

As  far  as  Stirling  rock. 
Down !  down !  in  headlong  overthrow,* 
Horseman  and  horse,  the  foremost  go. 

Wild  floundering  on  the  field! 
The  first  are  in  destruction's  gorge. 
Their  followers  wildly  o'er  them  urge ;  — 

The  knightly  helm  and  shield, 
The  mail,  the  acton,  and  the  spear. 
Strong  hand,  high  heart,  are  useless  here! 
Loud  from  the  mass  confused  the  cry 
Of  dying  warriors  swells  on  high, 
And  steeds  that  shriek  in  agony !  ^ 
They  came  like  mountain-torrent  red 
That  thunders  o'er  its  rocky  bed ; 
They  broke  like  that  same  torrent's  wave 
When  swallowed  by  a  darksome  cave. 
Billows  on  billows  burst  and  boil. 
Maintaining  still  the  stern  turmoil, 
And  to  their  wild  and  tortured  groan 
Each  adds  new  terrors  of  his  own ! 

»  See  Note  144.  »  See  Note  145. 

410 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

XXV 

Too  strong  in  courage  and  in  might 
Was  England  yet  to  yield  the  fight. 

Her  noblest  all  are  here ; 
Names  that  to  fear  were  never  known, 
Bold  Norfolk's  Earl  De  Brotherton, 

And  Oxford's  famed  De  Vere. 
There  Gloster  plied  the  bloody  sword, 
And  Berkley,  Grey,  and  Hereford, 

Bottetourt  and  Sanzavere, 
Ross,  Montague,  and  Mauley  came, 
And  Courtenay's  pride,  and  Percy's  fame  — 
Names  known  too  well  in  Scotland's  war 
At  Falkirk,  Methven,  and  Dunbar, 
Blazed  broader  yet  in  after  years 
At  Cressy  red  and  fell  Poitiers. 
Pembroke  with  these  and  Argentine 
Brought  up  the  rearward  battle-line. 
With  caution  o'er  the  ground  they  tread. 
Slippery  with  blood  and  piled  with  dead, 
Till  hand  to  hand  in  battle  set. 
The  bills  with  spears  and  axes  met. 
And,  closing  dark  on  every  side. 
Raged  the  full  contest  far  and  wide. 
Then  was  the  strength  of  Douglas  tried, 
Then  proved  was  Randolph's  generous  pride, 
411 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

And  well  did  Stewart's  actions  grace 
The  sire  of  Scotland's  royal  race! 

Firmly  they  kept  their  ground ; 
As  firmly  England  onward  pressed, 
And  down  went  many  a  noble  crest, 
And  rent  was  many  a  valiant  breast, 

And  Slaughter  revelled  round. 

XXVI 

Unflinching  foot  'gainst  foot  was  set. 
Unceasing  blow  by  blow  was  met; 

The  groans  of  those  who  fell 
Were  drowned  amid  the  shriller  clang 
That  from  the  blades  and  harness  rang, 

And  in  the  battle-yell. 
Yet  fast  they  fell,  unheard,  forgot, 
Both  Southern  fierce  and  hardy  Scot; 
And  O,  amid  that  waste  of  life 
What  various  motives  fired  the  strife! 
The  aspiring  noble  bled  for  fame. 
The  patriot  for  his  country's  claim ; 
This  knight  his  youthful  strength  to  proves 
And  that  to  win  his  lady's  love; 
Some  fought  from  ruffian  thirst  of  blood, 
From  habit  some  or  hardihood. 
But  ruffian  stern  and  soldier  good. 

The  noble  and  the  slave, 

412 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

From  various  cause  the  same  wild  road, 
On  the  same  bloody  morning,  trode 
To  that  dark  inn,  the  grave ! 

XXVII 

The  tug  of  strife  to  flag  begins, 
Though  neither  loses  yet  nor  wins. 
High  rides  the  sun,  thick  rolls  the  dust, 
And  feebler  speeds  the  blow  and  thrust. 
Douglas  leans  on  his  war-sword  now, 
And  Randolph  wipes  his  bloody  brow; 
Nor  less  had  toiled  each  Southern  knight 
From  morn  till  mid-day  in  the  fight. 
Strong  Egremont  for  air  must  gasp, 
Beauchamp  undoes  his  visor-clasp. 
And  Montague  must  quit  his  spear, 
And  sinks  thy  falchion,  bold  De  Vere! 
The  blows  of  Berkley  fall  less  fast. 
And  gallant  Pembroke's  bugle-blast 

Hath  lost  its  lively  tone ; 
Sinks,  Argentine,  thy  battle-word, 
And  Percy's  shout  was  fainter  heard,  — 

'My  merry-men,  fight  on!' 

XXVIII 

Bruce,  with  the  pilot's  wary  eye, 
The  slackening  of  the  storm  could  spy. 
413 


THE  LORD   OF  THE  ISLES 

'One  effort  more  and  Scotland's  free! 
Lord  of  the  Isles,  my  trust  in  thee  ^ 

Is  firm  as  Ailsa  Rock; 
Rush  on  with  Highland  sword  and  targe, 
I  with  my  Carrick  spearmen  charge ; 

Now  forward  to  the  shock!* 
At  once  the  spears  were  forward  thrown, 
Against  the  sun  the  broadswords  shone; 
The  pibroch  lent  its  maddening  tone. 
And  loud  King  Robert's  voice  was  known  - 
'Carrick,  press  on  —  they  fail,  they  fail! 
Press  on,  brave  sons  of  Innisgail, 

The  foe  is  fainting  fast! 
Each  strike  for  parent,  child,  and  wife. 
For  Scotland,  liberty,  and  life,  — 

The  battle  cannot  last!' 

XXIX 

The  fresh  and  desperate  onset  bore 
The  foes  three  furlongs  back  and  more, 
Leaving  their  noblest  in  their  gore. 

Alone,  De  Argentine 
Yet  bears  on  high  his  red-cross  shield, 
Gathers  the  relics  of  the  field, 
Renews  the  ranks  where  they  have  reeled, 

And  still  makes  good  the  line. 

I  See  Note  146. 
414 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Brief  strife  but  fierce  his  efforts  raise, 
A  bright  but  momentary  blaze. 
Fair  Edith  heard  the  Southern  shout, 
Beheld  them  turning  from  the  rout, 
Heard  the  wild  call  their  trumpets  sent 
In  notes  'twixt  triumph  and  lament. 
That  rallying  force,  combined  anew, 
Appeared  in  her  distracted  view 

To  hem  the  Islesmen  round ; 
*  O  God !  the  combat  they  renew, 

And  is  no  rescue  found ! 
And  ye  that  look  thus  tamely  on. 
And  see  your  native  land  o'erthrown, 
O,  are  your  hearts  of  flesh  or  stone?* 

XXX 

The  multitude  that  watched  afar. 
Rejected  from  the  ranks  of  war. 
Had  not  unmoved  beheld  the  fight 
When  strove  the  Bruce  for  Scotland's  right; 
Each  heart  had  caught  the  patriot  spark, 
Old  man  and  stripling,  priest  and  clerk. 
Bondsman  and  serf;  even  female  hand 
Stretched  to  the  hatchet  or  the  brand ; 
But  when  mute  Amadine  they  heard 
Give  to  their  zeal  his  signal-word 
A  frenzy  fired  the  throng;  — 

41S 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

'  Portents  and  miracles  impeach 
Our  sloth  —  the  dumb  our  duties  teach  — 
And  he  that  gives  the  mute  his  speech 
Can  bid  the  weak  be  strong. 
To  us  as  to  our  lords  are  given 
A  native  earth,  a  promised  heaven; 
To  us  as  to  our  lords  belongs 
The  vengeance  for  our  nation's  wrongs; 
The  choice  'twixt  death  or  freedom  warms 
Our  breasts  as  theirs  —  To  arms!  to  arms!' 
To  arms  they  flew,  —  axe,  club,  or  spear  — ■ 
And  mimic  ensigns  high  they  rear, 
And,  like  a  bannered  host  afar. 
Bear  down  on  England's  wearied  war.^ 

XXXI 

Already  scattered  o'er  the  plain. 
Reproof,  command,  and  counsel  vain. 
The  rearward  squadrons  fled  amain 

Or  made  but  doubtful  stay;  — 
But  when  they  marked  the  seeming  show 
Of  fresh  and  fierce  and  marshalled  foe, 

The  boldest  broke  array, 
O,  give  their  hapless  prince  his  due!^ 
In  vain  the  royal  Edward  threw 
His  person  'mid  the  spears, 

>  See  Note  147.  »  See  Note  148. 

416 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Cried,  '  Fight ! '  to  terror  and  despair, 
Menaced  and  wept  and  tore  his  hair, 

And  cursed  their  caitiff  fears; 
Till  Pembroke  turned  his  bridle  rein 
And  forced  him  from  the  fatal  plain. 
With  them  rode  Argentine  until 
They  gained  the  summit  of  the  hill, 

But  quitted  there  the  train:  — 
*  In  yonder  field  a  gage  I  left, 
I  must  not  live  of  fame  bereft ; 

I  needs  must  turn  again. 
Speed  hence,  my  liege,  for  on  your  trace 
The  fiery  Douglas  takes  the  chase, 

I  know  his  banner  well. 
God  send  my  sovereign  joy  and  bliss, 
And  many  a  happier  field  than  this !  — 

Once  more,  my  liege,  farewell ! ' 

XXXII 

Again  he  faced  the  battle-field,  — 

Wildly  they  fly,  are  slain,  or  yield. 

'Now  then,'  he  said,  and  couched  his  spear, 

'My  course  is  run,  the  goal  is  near; 

One  effort  more,  one  brave  career. 

Must  close  this  race  of  mine.' 
Then  in  his  stirrups  rising  high, 
He  shouted  loud  his  battle-cry, 
40  417 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

*  Saint  James  for  Argentine !  * 
And  of  the  bold  pursuers  four 
The  gallant  knight  from  saddle  bore; 
But  not  unharmed  —  a  lance's  point 
Has  found  his  breastplate's  loosened  joint. 

An  axe  has  razed  his  crest ; 
Yet  still  on  Colonsay's  fierce  lord, 
Who  pressed  the  chase  with  gory  sword, 

He  rode  with  spear  in  rest, 
And  through  his  bloody  tartans  bored 

And  through  his  gallant  breast. 
Nailed  to  the  earth,  the  mountaineer 
Yet  writhed  him  up  against  the  spear. 

And  swung  his  broadsword  round ! 
Stirrup,  steel-boot,  and  cuish  gave  way 
Beneath  that  blow's  tremendous  sway, 

The  blood  gushed  from  the  wound; 
And  the  grim  Lord  of  Colonsay 

Hath  turned  him  on  the  ground. 
And  laughed  in  death-pang  that  his  blade 
The  mortal  thrust  so  well  repaid. 

XXXIII 

Now  toiled  the  Bruce,  the  battle  done, 
To  use  his  conquest  boldly  won ; 
And  gave  command  for  horse  and  spear 
To  press  the  Southern's  scattered  rear, 
418 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Nor  let  his  broken  force  combine, 
When  the  war-cry  of  Argentine 

Fell  faintly  on  his  ear; 
'Save,  save  his  life,'  he  cried,  'O,  save 
The  kind,  the  noble,  and  the  brave!' 
The  squadrons  round  free  passage  gave, 
The  wounded  knight  drew  near; 
He  raised  his  red-cross  shield  no  more, 
Helm,  cuish,  and  breastplate  streamed  with  gore, 
Yet,  as  he  saw  the  king  advance. 
He  strove  even  then  to  couch  his  lance  — 
The  effort  was  in  vain! 
The  spur-stroke  failed  to  rouse  the  horse; 
Wounded  and  weary,  in  mid  course 

He  stumbled  on  the  plain. 
Then  foremost  was  the  generous  Bruce 
To  raise  his  head,  his  helm  to  loose;  — 

'Lord  Earl,  the  day  is  thine! 
My  sovereign's  charge  and  adverse  fate 
Have  made  our  meeting  all  too  late ; 

Yet  this  may  Argentine 
As  boon  from  ancient  comrade  crave  — 
A  Christian's  mass,  a  soldier's  grave.* 

XXXIV 

Bruce  pressed  his  dying  hand  —  its  grasp 
Kindly  replied ;  but,  in  his  clasp, 
419 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

It  stiffened  and  grew  cold  — 
'And,  O  farewell!'  the  victor  cried, 
/Of  chivalry  the  flower  and  pride, 

The  arm  in  battle  bold, 
The  courteous  mien,  the  noble  race, 
The  stainless  faith,  the  manly  face!  — 
Bid  Ninian's  convent  light  their  shrine 
For  late-wake  of  De  Argentine. 
O'er  better  knight  on  death-bier  laid 
Torch  never  gleamed  nor  mass  was  said !  * 

XXXV 

Nor  for  De  Argentine  alone 

Through  Ninian's  church  these  torches  shone 

And  rose  the  death-prayer's  awful  tone.^ 

That  yellow  lustre  glimmered  pale 

On  broken  plate  and  bloodied  mail. 

Rent  crest  and  shattered  coronet, 

Of  baron,  earl,  and  banneret; 

And  the  best  names  that  England  knew 

Claimed  in  the  death-prayer  dismal  due. 

Yet  mourn  not,  Land  of  Fame! 
Though  ne'er  the  Leopards  on  thy  shield 
Retreated  from  so  sad  a  field 

Since  Norman  William  came. 
Oft  may  thine  annals  justly  boast 

»  See  Note  149. 
420 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 

Of  battles  stern  by  Scotland  lost; 

Grudge  not  her  victory 
When  for  her  freeborn  rights  she  strove; 
Rights  dear  to  all  who  freedom  love, 

To  none  so  dear  as  thee ! 

XXXVI 

Turn  we  to  Bruce,  whose  curious  ear 

Must  from  Fitz-Louis  tidings  hear; 

With  him  a  hundred  voices  tell 

Of  prodigy  and  miracle, 

'For  the  mute  page  had  spoke.'  — 
'Page!*  said  Fitz-Louis,  'rather  say 

An  angel  sent  from  realms  of  day 
To  burst  the  English  yoke. 

I  saw  his  plume  and  bonnet  drop 

When  hurrying  from  the  mountain  top; 

A  lovely  brow,  dark  locks  that  wave, 

To  his  bright  eyes  new  lustre  gave, 

A  step  as  light  upon  the  green, 

As  if  his  pinions  waved  unseen ! ' 
'Spoke  he  with  none?'  —  'With  none  —  one  word 

Burst  when  he  saw  the  Island  Lord 

Returning  from  the  battle-field.'  — 
'What  answer  made  the  chief?'  —  'He  kneeled, 

Durst  not  look  up,  but  muttered  low 

Some  mingled  sounds  that  none  might  know, 
421 


THE  LORD   OF  THE  ISLES 

And  greeted  him  'twixt  joy  and  fear 
As  being  of  superior  sphere.' 

XXXVII 

Even  upon  Bannock's  bloody  plain, 
Heaped  then  with  thousands  of  the  slain, 
'Mid  victor  monarch's  musings  high, 
Mirth  laughed  in  good  King  Robert's  eye: 

*And  bore  he  such  angelic  air, 
Such  noble  front,  such  waving  hair? 
Hath  Ronald  kneeled  to  him?'  he  said; 

'Then  must  we  call  the  Church  to  aid  — 
Our  will  be  to  the  abbot  known 
Ere  these  strange  news  are  wider  blown, 
To  Cambuskenneth  straight  he  pass 
And  deck  the  church  for  solemn  mass, 
To  pay  for  high  deliverance  given 
A  nation's  thanks  to  gracious  Heaven. 
Let  him  array  besides  such  state. 
As  should  on  princes'  nuptials  wait. 
Ourself  the  cause,  through  fortune's  spite, 
That  once  broke  short  that  spousal  rite, 
Ourself  will  grace  with  early  morn 
The  bridal  of  the  Maid  of  Lorn.* 


CONCLUSION 

Go  forth,  my  Song,  upon  thy  venturous  way; 
Go  boldly  forth ;  nor  yet  thy  master  blame 
Who  chose  no  patron  for  his  humble  lay. 
And  graced  thy  numbers  with  no  friendly  name 
Whose  partial  zeal  might  smooth  thy  path  to  fame. 
There  was  —  and  O,  how  many  sorrows  crowd 
Into  these  two  brief  words !  —  there  was  a  claim 
By  generous  friendship  given  —  had  fate  allowed, 
It  well  had  bid  thee  rank  the  proudest  of  the  proud ! 

All  angel  now  —  yet  little  less  than  all 
While  still  a  pilgrim  in  our  world  below! 
What  'vails  it  us  that  patience  to  recall 
Which  hid  its  own  to  soothe  all  other  woes; 
What  'vails  to  tell  how  Virtue's  purest  glow 
Shone  yet  more  lovely  in  a  form  so  fair : 
And,  least  of  all,  what  'vails  the  world  should  know 
That  one  poor  garland,  twined  to  deck  thy  hair. 
Is  hung  upon  thy  hearse,  to  droop  and  wither  there! 


NOTES  AND  GLOSSARY 


NOTES 

Note  i,  p.  ii 

'Barnard  Castle,'  saith  old  Leland,  'standeth  stately  upon 
Tees.'  It  is  founded  upon  a  very  high  bank,  and  its  ruins  im- 
pend over  the  river,  including  within  the  area  a  circuit  of  six 
acres  and  upwards.  This  once  magnificent  fortress  derives  its 
name  from  its  founder,  Barnard  Baliol,  the  ancestor  of  the  short 
and  unfortunate  dynasty  of  that  name,  which  succeeded  to  the 
Scottish  throne  under  the  patronage  of  Edward  I  and  Edward 
III.  Baliol's  Tower,  afterwards  mentioned  in  the  poem,  is  a 
round  tower  of  great  size,  situated  at  the  western  extremity  of 
the  building.  It  bears  marks  of  great  antiquity,  and  was  remark- 
able for  the  curious  construction  of  its  vaulted  roof,  which  has 
been  lately  greatly  injured  by  the  operations  of  some  persons, 
to  whom  the  tower  has  been  leased  for  the  purpose  of  making 
patent  shot!  The  prospect  from  the  top  of  Baliol's  Tower  com- 
mands a  rich  and  magnificent  view  of  the  wooded  valley  of  the 
Tees. 

Barnard  Castle  often  changed  masters  during  the  Middle 
Ages.  Upon  the  forfeiture  of  the  unfortunate  John  Baliol,  the 
first  King  of  Scotland  of  that  family,  Edward  I  seized  this  for- 
tress among  the  other  English  estates  of  his  refractory  vassal. 
It  was  afterwards  vested  in  the  Beauchamps  of  Warwick,  and 
in  the  Staffords  of  Buckingham,  and  was  also  sometimes  in  the 
possession  of  the  Bishops  of  Durham,  and  sometimes  in  that  of 
the  Crown.  Richard  III  is  said  to  have  enlarged  and  strength- 
ened its  fortifications,  and  to  have  made  it  for  some  time  his 
principal  residence,  for  the  purpose  of  bridling  and  suppressing 
the  Lancastrian  faction  in  the  northern  counties.  From  the 
Staffords,  Barnard  Castle  passed,  probably  by  marriage,  into 
the  possession  of  the  powerful  Nevilles,  Earls  of  Westmoreland, 

427 


NOTES 

and  belonged  to  the  last  representative  of  that  family  when  he 
engaged  with  the  Earl  of  Northumberland  in  the  ill-concerted 
insurrection  of  the  twelfth  of  Queen  Elizabeth.  Upon  this  occa- 
sion, however,  Sir  George  Bowes,  of  Sheatlam,  who  held  great 
possessions  in  the  neighbourhood,  anticipated  the  two  insurgent 
earls,  by  seizing  upon  and  garrisoning  Barnard  Castle,  which  he 
held  out  for  ten  days  against  all  their  forces,  and  then  surren- 
dered it  upon  honourable  terms.  (See  Sadler's  State  Papers,  ii, 
330.)  In  a  ballad,  contained  in  Percy's  Reliques  of  Ancient 
Poetry,  1,  the  siege  is  thus  commemorated:  — 

Then  Sir  George  Bowes  he  straight  way  rose,      i 

After  them  some  spoyle  to  make; 
These  noble  erles  turned  back  againe. 

And  aye  they  vowed  that  knight  to  take. 

That  baron  he  to  his  castle  fled : 

To  Barnard  Castle  then  fled  he; 
The  uttermost  walles  were  eathe  to  won, 

The  erles  have  won  them  presentlie. 

The  uttermost  walles  were  lime  and  brick; 

But  though  they  won  them  soon  anone, 
Lang  ere  they  wan  the  innermost  walles. 

For  they  were  cut  in  rock  and  stone. 

By  the  suppression  of  this  rebellion,  and  the  consequent  for- 
feiture of  the  Earl  of  Westmoreland,  Barnard  Castle  reverted  to 
the  Crown,  and  was  sold  or  leased  out  to  Car,  Earl  of  Somerset, 
the  guilty  and  unhappy  favourite  of  James  I.  It  was  afterwards 
granted  to  Sir  Henry  Vane  the  elder,  and  was  therefore,  in  all 
probability,  occupied  for  the  Parliament,  whose  interest  during 
the  Civil  War  was  so  keenly  espoused  by  the  Vanes.  It  is  now, 
with  the  other  estates  of  that  family,  the  property  of  the  Right 
Honourable  the  Earl  of  Darlington. 


Note  2,  p.  15 

I  have  had  occasion  to  remark,  in  real  life,  the  effect  of  keen 
and  fervent  anxiety  in  giving  acuteness  to  the  organs  of  sense. 
My  gifted  friend,  Miss  Joanna  Baillie,  whose  dramatic  works  dis- 

428 


NOTES 

play  such  intimate  acquaintance  with  the  operations  of  human 
passion,  has  not  omitted  this  remarkable  circumstance:  — 

De  Montfort  (off  his  guard).   'T  is  Rezenvelt:  I  heard  his  well-known  foot, 
From  the  first  staircase  mounting  step  by  step. 

Freb.  How  quick  an  ear  thou  hast  for  distant  sound  1 
I  heard  him  not. 

[De  Montfort  looks  embarrassed,  and  is  silent.] 


Note  3,  p.  15 

The  use  of  complete  suits  of  armour  was  fallen  into  disuse 
during  the  Civil  War,  though  they  were  still  worn  by  leaders  of 
rank  and  importance.  '  In  the  reign  of  King  James  I,'  says  our 
military  antiquary,'  no  great  alterations  were  made  in  the  article 
of  defensive  armour,  except  that  the  buff-coat,  or  jerkin,  which 
was  originally  worn  under  the  cuirass,  now  became  frequently 
a  substitute  for  it,  it  having  been  found  that  a  good  buff  leather 
would  of  itself  resist  the  stroke  of  a  sword ;  this,  however,  only 
occasionally  took  place  among  the  light-armed  cavalry  and 
infantry,  complete  suits  of  armour  being  still  used  among  the 
heavy  horse.  Buff-coats  continued  to  be  worn  by  the  city- 
trained-bands  till  within  the  memory  of  persons  now  living,  so 
that  defensive  armour  may,  in  some  measure,  be  said  to  have 
terminated  in  the  same  materials  with  which  it  began,  that  is, 
the  skins  of  animals,  or  leather.'  (Grose's  Military  Antiquities, 
London,  1801,  4to,  11,  323.) 

Of  the  buff-coats,  which  were  worn  over  the  corselets,  several 
are  yet  preserved ;  and  Captain  Grose  has  given  an  engraving  of 
one  which  was  used  in  the  time  of  Charles  I  by  Sir  Francis 
Rhodes,  Baronet,  of  Balbrough-Hall,  Derbyshire.  They  were 
usually  lined  with  silk  or  linen,  secured  before  by  buttons,  or  by 
a  lace,  and  often  richly  decorated  with  gold  or  silver  embroidery. 
From  the  following  curious  account  of  a  dispute  respecting  a 
buff-coat  between  an  old  roundhead  captain  and  a  justice  of 
peace,  by  whom  his  arms  were  seized  after  the  Restoration,  we 
learn  that  the  value  and  importance  of  this  defensive  garment 
were  considerable :  — 


429 


NOTES 

'A  party  of  horse  came  to  my  house,  commanded  by  Mr. 
Peebles,  and  he  told  me  he  was  come  for  my  arms,  and  that  I 
must  deliver  them.  I  asked  him  for  his  order.  He  told  me  he  had 
a  better  order  than  Oliver  used  to  give:  and,  clapping  his  hand 
upon  his  sword-hilt,  he  said,  that  was  his  order.  I  told  him,  if 
he  had  none  but  that,  it  was  not  sufficient  to  take  my  arms;  and 
then  he  pulled  out  his  warrant,  and  I  read  it.  It  was  signed  by 
Wentworth  Armitage,  a  general  warrant  to  search  all  persons 
they  suspected,  and  so  left  the  power  to  the  soldiers  at  their  plea- 
sure. They  came  to  us  at  Coalley-Hall,  about  sun-setting;  and 
I  caused  a  candle  to  be  lighted,  and  conveyed  Peebles  into  the 
room  where  my  arms  were.  My  arms  were  near  the  kitchen 
fire;  and  there  they  took  away  fowling-pieces,  pistols,  muskets, 
carbines,  and  such  like,  better  than  20/.  Then  Mr.  Peebles 
asked  me  for  my  buff-coat;  and  I  told  them  they  had  no  order 
to  take  away  my  apparel.  He  told  me  I  was  not  to  dispute  their 
orders;  but  if  I  would  not  deliver  it,  he  would  carry  me  away 
prisoner,  and  had  me  out  of  doors.  Yet  he  let  me  alone  unto  the 
next  morning,  that  I  must  wait  upon  Sir  John,  at  Halifax;  and, 
coming  before  him,  he  threatened  me,  and  said,  if  I  did  not  send 
the  coat,  for  it  was  too  good  for  me  to  keep.  I  told  him  it  was 
not  in  his  power  to  demand  my  apparel;  and  he,  growing  into 
a  fit,  called  me  rebel  and  traitor,  and  said,  if  I  did  not  send  the 
coat  with  all  speed,  he  would  send  me  where  I  did  not  like  well. 
I  told  him  I  was  no  rebel,  and  he  did  not  well  to  call  me  so  before 
these  soldiers  and  gentlemen,  to  make  me  the  mark  for  every 
one  to  shoot  at.  I  departed  the  room;  yet,  notwithstanding  all 
the  threatenings,  did  not  send  the  coat.  But  the  next  day  he 
sent  John  Lyster,  the  son  of  Mr.  Thomas  Lyster,  of  Shipden- 
Hall,  for  this  coat,  with  a  letter,  verbatim  thus:  "  Mr.  Hodson, 
I  admire  you  will  play  the  child  so  with  me  as  you  have  done, 
in  writing  such  an  inconsiderate  letter.  Let  me  have  the  buff- 
coat  sent  forthwith,  otherwise  you  shall  so  hear  from  me  as  will 
not  very  well  please  you."  I  was  not  at  home  when  this  mes- 
senger came;  but  I  had  ordered  my  wife  not  to  deliver  it,  but, 
if  they  would  take  it,  let  them  look  to  it:  and  he  took  it  away; 

430 


NOTES 

and  one  of  Sir  John's  brethren  wore  it  many  years  after.  They 
sent  Captain  Butt  to  compound  with  my  wife  about  it;  but  I 
sent  word  I  would  have  my  own  again:  but  he  advised  me  to 
take  a  price  for  it,  and  make  no  more  ado.  I  said,  it  was  hard 
to  take  my  arms  and  apparel  too;  I  had  laid  out  a  great  deal  of 
money  for  them ;  I  hoped  they  did  not  mean  to  destroy  me,  by 
taking  my  goods  illegally  from  me.  He  said  he  would  make  up 
the  matter,  if  I  pleased,  betwixt  us;  and,  it  seems,  had  brought 
Sir  John  to  a  price  for  my  coat.  I  would  not  have  taken  lol.  for 
it;  he  would  have  given  about  4/.;  but,  wanting  my  receipt  for 
the  money,  he  kept  both  sides,  and  I  had  never  satisfaction.' 
(Memoirs  of  Captain  Hodgson,  Edinburgh,  1806,  p.  178.) 

Note  4,  p.  18 

In  this  character,  I  have  attempted  to  sketch  one  of  those 
West-Indian  adventurers,  who,  during  the  course  of  the  seven- 
teenth century,  were  popularly  known  by  the  name  of  Bucaniers. 
The  successes  of  the  English  in  the  predatory  incursions  upon 
Spanish  America,  during  the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  had  never  been 
forgotten;  and,  from  that  period  downward,  the  exploits  of 
Drake  and  Raleigh  were  imitated,  upon  a  smaller  scale  indeed, 
but  with  equally  desperate  valour,  by  small  bands  of  pirates, 
gathered  from  all  nations,  but  chiefly  French  and  English.  The 
engrossing  policy  of  the  Spaniards  tended  greatly  to  increase  the 
number  of  these  freebooters,  from  whom  their  commerce  and 
colonies  suffered,  in  the  issue,  dreadful  calamity.  The  Wind- 
ward Islands,  which  the  Spaniards  did  not  deem  worthy  their 
own  occupation,  had  been  gradually  settled  by  adventurers  of 
the  French  and  English  nations.  But  Frederic  of  Toledo,  who 
was  despatched  in  1630,  with  a  powerful  fleet  against  the  Dutch, 
had  orders  from  the  Court  of  Madrid  to  destroy  these  colonies, 
whose  vicinity  at  once  offended  the  pride  and  excited  the  jealous 
suspicions  of  their  Spanish  neighbours.  This  order  the  Spanish 
Admiral  executed  with  sufificient  rigour;  but  the  only  conse- 
quence was,  that  the  planters,  being  rendered  desperate  by 

431 


NOTES 

persecution,  began,  under  the  well-known  name  of  Bucam'ers, 
to  commence  a  retaliation  so  horridly  savage,  that  the  perusal 
makes  the  reader  shudder.  When  they  carried  on  their  depreda- 
tions at  sea,  they  boarded,  without  respect  to  disparity  of  num- 
ber, every  Spanish  vessel  that  came  in  their  way;  and,  demean- 
ing themselves,  both  in  the  battle  and  after  the  conquest,  more 
like  demons  than  human  beings,  they  succeeded  in  impressing 
their  enemies  with  a  sort  of  superstitious  terror,  which  rendered 
them  incapable  of  offering  effectual  resistance.  From  piracy  at 
sea,  they  advanced  to  making  predatory  descents  on  the  Spanish 
territories;  in  which  they  displayed  the  same  furious  and  irresist- 
ible valour,  the  same  thirst  of  spoil  and  the  same  brutal  inhu- 
manity to  their  captives.  The  large  treasures  which  they 
acquired  in  their  adventures,  they  dissipated  by  the  most  un- 
bounded licentiousness  in  gaming,  women,  wine,  and  debauch- 
ery of  every  species.  When  their  spoils  were  thus  wasted,  they 
entered  into  some  new  association,  and  undertook  new  adven- 
tures. For  further  particulars  concerning  these  extraordinary 
banditti,  the  reader  may  consult  Raynal,  or  the  common  and 
popular  book  called  The  History  of  the  Bucaniers. 

Note  5,  p.  21 

The  well-known  and  desperate  battle  of  Long-Marston  Moor, 
which  terminated  so  unfortunately  for  the  cause  of  Charles, 
commenced  under  very  different  auspices.  Prince  Rupert  had 
marched  with  an  army  of  20,000  men  for  the  relief  of  York,  then 
besieged  by  Sir  Thomas  Fairfax,  at  the  head  of  the  Parliamen- 
tary army,  and  the  Earl  of  Leven,  with  the  Scottish  auxiliary 
forces.  In  this  he  so  completely  succeeded,  that  he  compelled 
the  besiegers  to  retreat  to  Marston  Moor,  a  large  open  plain, 
about  eight  miles  distant  from  the  city.  Thither  they  were  fol- 
lowed by  the  Prince,  who  had  now  united  to  his  army  the  garri- 
son of  York,  probably  not  less  than  ten  thousand  men  strong, 
under  the  gallant  Marquis  (then  Earl)  of  Newcastle.  W'hitelocke 
has  recorded,  with  much  impartiality,  the  following  particulars 
of  this  eventful  day:  — 

432 


NOTES 

'  The  right  wing  of  the  Parliament  was  commanded  by  Sir 
Thomas  Fairfax,  and  consisted  of  all  his  horse  and  three  regi- 
ments of  the  Scots  horse;  the  left  wing  was  commanded  by  the 
Earl  of  Manchester  and  Colonel  Cromwell.  One  body  of  their 
foot  was  commanded  by  Lord  Fairfax,  and  consisted  of  his  foot, 
and  two  brigades  of  the  Scots  foot  for  reserve;  and  the  main 
body  of  the  rest  of  the  foot  was  commanded  by  General  Leven. 

'The  right  wing  of  the  Prince's  army  was  commanded  by  the 
Earl  of  Newcastle;  the  left  wing  by  the  Prince  himself;  and  the 
main  body  by  General  Goring,  Sir  Charles  Lucas,  and  Major- 
General  Porter;  —  thus  were  both  sides  drawn  up  into  battalia. 

'July  3d,  1644.  In  this  posture  both  armies  faced  each  other, 
and  about  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  fight  began  between 
them.  The  Prince,  with  his  left  wing,  fell  on  the  Parliament's 
right  wing,  routed  them,  and  pursued  them  a  great  way;  the 
like  did  General  Goring,  Lucas,  and  Porter,  upon  the  Parlia- 
ment's main  body.  The  three  generals,  giving  all  for  lost,  hasted 
out  of  the  field,  and  many  of  their  soldiers  fled,  and  threw  down 
their  arms;  the  King's  forces  too  eagerly  following  them,  the 
victory,  now  almost  achieved  by  them,  was  again  snatched  out 
of  their  hands.  For  Colonel  Cromwell,  with  the  brave  regiment 
of  his  countrv'men,  and  Sir  Thomas  Fairfax,  having  rallied  some 
of  his  horse,  fell  upon  the  Prince's  right  wing,  where  the  Earl  of 
Newcastle  was,  and  routed  them;  and  the  rest  of  their  com- 
panions rallying,  they  fell  altogether  upon  the  divided  bodies  of 
Rupert  and  Goring,  and  totally  dispersed  them,  and  obtained  a 
complete  victory,  after  three  hours'  fight. 

*  From  this  battle  and  the  pursuit,  some  reckon  were  buried 
7000  Englishmen;  all  agree  that  above  3000  of  the  Prince's  men 
were  slain  in  the  battle,  besides  those  in  the  chase,  and  3000  pri- 
soners taken,  many  of  their  chief  ofificers,  twenty-five  pieces  of 
ordnance,  forty-seven  colours,  10,000  arms,  two  waggons  of 
carabins  and  pistols,  130  barrels  of  powder,  and  all  their  bag  and 
baggage.'   (Whitelocke's  Memoirs,  London,  1682,  fol.  p.  89.) 

Lord  Clarendon  informs  us,  that  the  King,  previous  to  receiv- 
ing the  true  account  of  the  battle,  had  been  informed,  by  an 

"  433 


NOTES ; 

express  from  Oxford,  'that  Prince  Rupert  had  not  only  relieved 
York,  but  totally  defeated  the  Scots,  with  many  particulars  to 
confirm  it,  all  which  was  so  much  believed  there,  that  they  had 
made  public  fires  of  joy  for  the  victory.' 

Note  6,  p.  29 

Monckton  and  Mitton  are  villages  near  the  river  Ouse,  and 
not  very  distant  from  the  field  of  battle.  The  particulars  of  the 
action  were  violently  disputed  at  the  time;  but  the  following 
extract,  from  the  Manuscript  History  of  the  Baronial  House  of 
Somerville,  is  decisive  as  to  the  flight  of  the  Scottish  General, 
the  Earl  of  Leven.  The  particulars  are  given  by  the  author  of 
the  history  on  the  authority  of  his  father,  then  the  representa- 
tive of  the  family.  This  curious  manuscript  has  been  published 
by  consent  of  my  noble  friend,  the  present  Lord  Somerville. 

'The  order  of  this  great  battell,  wherin  both  armies  was  neer 
of  ane  equall  number,  consisting,  to  the  best  calculatione,  neer  to 
three  score  thousand  men  upon  both  sydes,  I  shall  not  take  upon 
me  to  discryve;  albeit,  from  the  draughts  then  taken  upon  the 
place,  and  information  I  receaved  from  this  gentleman,  who 
being  then  a  volunteer,  as  having  no  command,  had  opportunitie 
and  libertie  to  ryde  from  the  one  wing  of  the  armie  to  the  other, 
to  view  all  ther  several  squadrons  of  horse  and  battallions  of  foot, 
how  formed,  and  in  what  manner  drawn  up,  with  every  other 
circumstance  relating  to  the  fight,  and  that  both  as  to  the  King's 
armies  and  that  of  the  Parliament's,  amongst  whom,  untill  the 
engadgment,  he  went  from  statione  to  statione  to  observe  ther 
order  and  forme;  but  that  the  descriptione  of  this  battell,  with 
the  various  success  on  both  sides  at  the  beginning,  with  the  loss 
of  the  royal  armie,  and  the  sad  effects  that  followed  that  misfor- 
tune as  to  his  Majestie's  interest,  hes  been  so  often  done  already 
by  English  authors,  little  to  our  commendatione,  how  justly  I 
shall  not  dispute,  seing  the  truth  is,  as  our  principall  generall  fled 
that  night  neer  fourtie  mylles  from  the  place  of  the  fight,  that 
part  of  the  armie  where  he  commanded  being  totallie  routed ;  but 

434 


NOTES 

it  is  as  true,  that  much  of  the  victorie  is  attributed  to  the  good 
conduct  of  David  Lesselie,  lievetennent-generall  of  our  horse. 
Cromwell  himself,  that  minione  of  fortune,  but  the  rod  of  God's 
wrath,  to  punish  eftirward  three  rebellious  nations,  disdained 
not  to  take  orders  from  him,  albeit  then  in  the  same  qualitie  of 
command  for  the  Parliament,  as  being  lievetennent-general  to 
the  Earl  of  Manchester's  horse,  whom,  with  the  assistance  of  the 
Scots  horse,  haveing  routed  the  Prince's  right  wing,  as  he  had 
done  that  of  the  Parliament's.  These  two  commanders  of  the 
horse  upon  that  wing,  wisely  restrained  the  great  bodies  of  their 
horse  from  persuing  these  brocken  troups,  but,  wheelling  to  the 
left-hand,  falls  in  upon  the  naked  flanks  of  the  Prince's  main 
battallion  of  foot,  car>'ing  them  doune  with  great  violence; 
nether  mett  they  with  any  great  resistance  untill  they  came  to 
the  Marques  of  Newcastle  his  battallione  of  White  Coats,  who, 
first  peppering  them  soundly  with  ther  shott,  when  they  came 
to  charge,  stoutly  boor  them  up  with  their  picks  that  they  could 
not  enter  to  break  them.  Here  the  Parliament's  horse  of  that 
wing  receaved  ther  greatest  losse,  and  a  stop  for  sometyme  putt 
to  ther  hoped-for  victorie ;  and  that  only  by  the  stout  resistance 
of  this  gallant  battalione,  which  consisted  neer  of  four  thousand 
foot,  untill  at  length  a  Scots  regiment  of  dragouns,  commanded 
by  Collonell  Frizeall,  with  other  two,  was  brought  to  open  them 
upon  some  hand,  which  at  length  they  did,  when  all  the  ammu- 
nitione  was  spent.  Having  refused  quarters,  every  man  fell  in 
the  same  order  and  ranke  wherin  he  had  foughten. 

'Be  this  execution  was  done,  the  Prince  returned  from  the 
persuite  of  the  right  wing  of  the  Parliament's  horse,  which  he  had 
beatten  and  followed  too  farre,  to  the  losse  of  the  battell,  which 
certanely,  in  all  men's  opinions,  he  might  have  caryed  if  he  had 
not  been  too  violent  upon  the  persuite;  which  gave  his  enemies 
upon  the  left-hand  opportunitie  to  disperse  and  cut  doune  his  in- 
fantrie,  who,  haveing  cleared  the  field  of  all  the  standing  bodies 
of  foot,  were  now,  with  many  of  their  oune,  stand- 

ing ready  to  receave  the  charge  of  his  allmost  spent  horses,  if  he 
should  attempt  it;  which  the  Prince  observeing,  and  seing  all 

435 


NOTES 

lost,  he  retreated  to  Yorke  with  two  thousand  horse.  Notwith- 
standing of  this,  ther  was  that  night  such  a  consternatione  in  the 
Parliament  armies,  that  it 's  believed  by  most  of  those  that  wer 
there  present,  that  if  the  Prince,  haveing  so  great  a  body  of  horse 
inteire,  had  made  ane  onfall  that  night,  or  the  ensueing  morning 
be-tyme,  he  had  carryed  the  victorie  out  of  ther  hands;  for  it's 
certane,  by  the  morning's  light,  he  had  rallyed  a  body  of  ten 
thousand  men,  wherof  ther  was  neer  three  thousand  gallant 
horse.  These,  with  the  assistance  of  the  toune  and  garrisoune 
of  Yorke,  might  have  done  much  to  have  recovered  the  victory, 
for  the  losse  of  this  battell  in  effect  lost  the  King  and  his  interest 
in  the  three  kingdomes;  his  Majestic  never  being  able  eftir  this 
to  make  head  in  the  North,  but  lost  his  garrisons  every  day. 

'As  for  Generall  Lesselie,  in  the  beginning  of  this  flight  have- 
ing that  part  of  the  army  quite  brocken,  whare  he  had  placed 
himself,  by  the  valour  of  the  Prince,  he  imagined  and  was  con- 
fermed  by  the  opinione  of  others  then  upon  the  place  with  him, 
that  the  battell  was  irrecoverably  lost,  seeing  they  wer  fleeing 
upon  all  hands;  theirfore  they  humblie  entreated  his  exxellence 
to  reteir  and  wait  his  better  fortune,  which,  without  farder 
advyseing,  he  did;  and  never  drew  bridle  untill  he  came  the 
lenth  of  Leads,  having  ridden  all  that  night  with  a  cloak  of 
drap  de  berrie  about  him,  belonging  to  this  gentleman  of  whom  I 
write,  then  in  his  retinue,  with  many  other  ofificers  of  good 
qualitie.  It  was  neer  twelve  the  next  day  befor  they  had  the 
certanety  who  was  master  of  the  field,  when  at  length  ther 
arryves  ane  expresse,  sent  by  David  Lesselie,  to  acquaint  the 
general  they  had  obtained  a  most  glorious  victory,  and  that  the 
Prince,  with  his  brocken  troupes,  was  fled  from  Yorke.  This 
intelligence  was  somewhat  amazeing  to  these  gentlemen  that 
had  been  eye-witnesses  to  the  disorder  of  the  armie  befor  ther 
re  tearing,  and  had  then  accompanyed  the  General  in  his  flight; 
who,  being  much  wear>'ed  that  evening  of  the  battell  with  order- 
ing of  his  armie,  and  now  quite  spent  with  his  long  journey  in  the 
night,  had  casten  himselfe  doune  upon  a  bed  to  rest,  when  this 
gentleman  comeing  quyetly  into  his  chamber,  he  awoke,  and 

436 


NOTES 

hastily  cryes  out,  "Lievetennent-collonell,  what  newes?"  "All 
is  safe,  may  it  please  your  Excellence;  the  Parliament's  armie 
hes  obtained  a  great  victory  " ;  and  then  dely\'ers  the  letter.  The 
Generall,  upon  the  hearing  of  this,  knocked  upon  his  breast,  and 
sayes,  "I  would  to  God  I  had  dyed  upon  the  place!"  and  then 
opens  the  letter,  which,  in  a  few  lines,  gave  ane  account  of  the 
victory,  and  in  the  close  pressed  his  speedy  returne  to  the  armie, 
which  he  did  the  next  day,  being  accompanyed  some  mylles  back 
by  this  gentleman,  who  then  takes  his  leave  of  him,  and  receaved 
at  parting  many  expressions  of  kyndenesse,  with  promises  that  he 
would  never  be  unmyndful  of  his  care  and  respect  towards  him ; 
and  in  the  end  he  entreats  him  to  present  his  service  to  all  his 
friends  and  acquaintances  in  Scotland.  Thereftir  the  Generall 
sets  forward  in  his  journey  for  the  armie,  as  this  gentleman  did 
for  ,  in  order  to  his  transportatione  for  Scotland, 

where  he  arryved  sex  dayes  eftir  the  fight  of  Mestoune  Muir, 
and  gave  the  first  true  account  and  descriptione  of  that  great 
battell,  wherin  the  Covenanters  then  gloryed  soe  much,  that 
they  impiously  boasted  the  Lord  had  now  signally  appeared  for 
his  cause  and  people;  it  being  ordinary  for  them,  dureing  the 
whole  time  of  this  warre,  to  attribute  the  greatnes  of  their  suc- 
cess to  the  goodnes  and  justice  of  ther  cause,  untill  Divine  Jus- 
tice trysted  them  with  some  crosse  dispensatione,  and  then  you 
might  have  heard  this  language  from  them,  "That  it  pleases  the 
Lord  to  give  his  oune  the  heavyest  end  of  the  tree  to  bear,  that 
the  saints  and  the  people  of  God  must  still  be  sufferers  while 
they  are  here  away,  that  the  malignant  party  was  God's  rod  to 
punish  them  for  ther  unthankfullnesse,  which  in  the  end  he  will 
cast  into  the  fire":  with  a  thousand  other  expressions  and  Scrip- 
ture citations  prophanely  and  blasphemously  uttered  by  them, 
to  palliate  ther  villainie  and  rebellion.'  {Memorie  of  the  Somer- 
villes,  Edinburgh,  1815.) 

Note  7,  p.  29. 

Cromwell,  with  his  regiment  of  cuirassiers,  had  a  principal 
share  in  turning  the  fate  of  the  day  at  Marston  Moor;  which  was 

437 


NOTES 

equally  matter  of  triumph  to  the  Independents,  and  of  grief  and 
heart-burning  to  the  Presbyterians  and  to  the  Scottish.  Prin- 
cipal Baillie  expresses  his  dissatisfaction  as  follows:  — 

'The  Independents  sent  up  one  quickly  to  assure  that  all  the 
glory  of  that  night  was  theirs;  and  they  and  their  Major-General 
Cromwell  had  done  it  all  there  alone;  but  Captain  Stuart  after- 
ward shewed  the  vanity  and  falsehood  of  their  disgraceful  rela- 
tion. God  gave  us  that  victory  wonderfully.  There  were  three 
generals  on  each  side,  Lesley,  Fairfax,  and  Manchester;  Rupert, 
Newcastle,  and  King.  Within  half  an  hour  and  less,  all  six  took 
them  to  their  heels ;  —  this  to  you  alone.  The  disadvantage  of 
the  ground,  and  violence  of  the  flower  of  Prince  Rupert's  horse, 
carried  all  our  right-wing  down;  only  Eglinton  kept  ground,  to 
his  great  loss;  his  lieutenant-crowner,  a  brave  man,  I  fear  shall 
die,  and  his  son  Robert  be  mutilated  of  an  arm.  Lindsay  had 
the  greatest  hazard  of  any;  but  the  beginning  of  the  victory  was 
from  David  Lesley,  who  before  was  much  suspected  of  evil  de- 
signs: he,  with  the  Scots  and  Cromwell's  horse,  having  the  ad- 
vantage of  the  ground,  did  dissipate  all  before  them.  (Baillie's 
Letters  and  Joitrnalsi  Edinburgh,  1785,  8vo,  11,  36.) 

Note  8,  p.  30 

In  a  poem,  entitled  The  Lay  of  the  Reedwater  Minstrel,  New- 
castle, 1809,  this  tale,  with  many  others  peculiar  to  the  valley 
of  the  Reed,  is  commemorated:  — 

'The  particulars  of  the  traditional  story  of  Parcy  Reed  of 
Troughend,  and  the  Halls  of  Girsonfield,  the  author  had  from  a 
descendant  of  the  family  of  Reed.  From  his  account,  it  appears 
that  Percival  Reed,  Esquire,  a  keeper  of  Reedsdale,  was  be- 
trayed by  the  Halls  (hence  denominated  the  false-hearted 
Ha's)  to  a  band  of  moss-troopers  of  the  name  of  Crosier,  who 
slew  him  at  Batinghope,  near  the  source  of  the  Reed. 

'The  Halls  were,  after  the  murder  of  Parcy  Reed,  held  in 
such  universal  abhorrence  and  contempt  by  the  inhabitants  of 
Reedsdale,  for  their  cowardly  and  treacherous  behaviour,  that 
they  were  obliged  to  leave  the  country.' 

438 


NOTES 

In  another  passage,  we  are  informed  that  the  ghost  of  the 
injured  borderer  is  supposed  to  haunt  the  banks  of  a  brook  called 
the  Pringle.  These  Redes  of  Troughend  were  a  very  ancient 
family,  as  may  be  conjectured  from  their  deriving  their  sur- 
name from  the  river  on  which  they  had  their  mansion.  An  epi- 
taph on  one  of  their  tombs  afhrms,  that  the  family  held  their 
lands  of  Troughend,  which  are  situated  on  the  Reed,  nearly 
opposite  to  Otterburn,  for  the  incredible  space  of  nine  hundred 
years. 

Note  9,  p.  30 

Risingham,  upon  the  river  Reed,  near  the  beautiful  hamlet  of 
VVoodburn,  is  an  ancient  Roman  station,  formerly  called  Habi- 
tancum.  Camden  says,  that  in  his  time  the  popular  account  bore 
that  it  had  been  the  abode  of  a  deity,  or  giant,  called  Magon; 
and  appeals,  in  support  of  this  tradition,  as  well  as  to  the  ety- 
mology of  Risingham,  or  Reisenham,  which  signifies,  in  German, 
the  habitation  of  the  giants,  to  two  Roman  altars  taken  out  of 
the  river,  inscribed,  Deo  Mogonti  Cadenorum.  About  half  a 
mile  distant  from  Risingham,  upon  an  eminence  covered  with 
scattered  birch-trees  and  fragments  of  rock,  there  is  cut  upon  a 
large  rock,  in  alto  relievo,  a  remarkable  figure,  called  Robin  of 
Risingham,  or  Robin  of  Reedsdale.  It  presents  a  hunter,  with 
his  bow  raised  in  one  hand,  and  in  the  other  what  seems  to  be  a 
hare.  There  is  a  quiver  at  the  back  of  the  figure,  and  he  is 
dressed  in  a  long  coat,  or  kirtle,  coming  down  to  the  knees,  and 
meeting  close,  with  a  girdle  bound  round  him.  Dr.  Horseley, 
who  saw  all  monuments  of  antiquity  with  Roman  eyes,  inclines 
to  think  this  figure  a  Roman  archer:  and  certainly  the  bow  is 
rather  of  the  ancient  size  than  of  that  which  was  so  formidable 
in  the  hand  of  the  English  archers  of  the  Middle  Ages.  But  the 
rudeness  of  the  whole  figure  prevents  our  founding  strongly 
upon  mere  inaccuracy  of  proportion.  The  popular  tradition  is, 
that  it  represents  a  giant,  whose  brother  resided  at  Woodburn, 
and  he  himself  at  Risingham.  It  adds,  that  they  subsisted  by 
hunting,  and  that  one  of  them,  finding  the  game  become  too 

439 


NOTES 

scarce  to  support  them,  poisoned  his  companion,  in  whose 
memory  the  monument  was  engraved.  What  strange  and 
tragic  circumstance  may  be  concealed  under  this  legend,  or 
whether  it  is  utterly  apocryphal,  it  is  now  impossible  to  dis- 
cover. 

The  name  of  Robin  of  Redesdale  was  given  to  one  of  the 
Umfravilles,  Lords  of  Prudhoe,  and  afterwards  to  one  Hillard,  a 
friend  and  follower  of  the  king-making  Earl  of  Warwick.  This 
person  commanded  an  army  of  Northamptonshire  and  northern 
men,  who  seized  on  and  beheaded  the  Earl  Rivers,  father  to 
Edward  the  Fourth's  queen,  and  his  son,  Sir  John  Woodville. 
(See  Holinshed,  ad  annum,  1469.) 

Note  10,  p.  31 

The  'statutes  of  the  bucaniers'  were,  in  reality,  more  equitable 
than  could  have  been  expected  from  the  state  of  society  under 
which  they  had  been  formed.  They  chiefly  related,  as  may 
readily  be  conjectured,  to  the  distribution  and  the  inheritance 
of  their  plunder. 

When  the  expedition  was  completed,  the  fund  of  prize-money 
acquired  was  thrown  together,  each  party  taking  his  oath  that 
he  had  retained  or  concealed  no  part  of  the  common  stock.  If 
any  one  transgressed  in  this  important  particular,  the  punish- 
ment was,  his  being  set  ashore  on  some  desert  key  or  island,  to 
shift  for  himself  as  he  could.  The  owners  of  the  vessel  had  then 
their  share  assigned  for  the  expenses  of  the  outfit.  These  were 
generally  old  pirates,  settled  at  Tobago,  Jamaica,  St.  Domingo, 
or  some  other  French  and  English  settlement.  The  surgeon's 
and  carpenter's  salaries,  with  the  price  of  provisions  and  ammu- 
nition, were  also  defrayed.  Then  followed  the  compensation  due 
to  the  maimed  and  wounded,  rated  according  to  the  damage 
they  had  sustained;  as  six  hundred  pieces  of  eight,  or  six  slaves, 
for  the  loss  of  an  arm  or  leg,  and  so  in  proportion. 

'After  this  act  of  justice  and  humanity,  the  remainder  of  the 
booty  was  divided  into  as  many  shares  as  there  were  Bucaniers, 

440 


NOTES 

The  commander  could  only  lay  claim  to  a  single  share,  as  the 
rest;  but  they  complimented  him  with  two  or  three,  in  propor- 
tion as  he  had  acquitted  himself  to  their  satisfaction.  When  the 
vessel  was  not  the  property  of  the  whole  company,  the  person 
who  had  fitted  it  out,  and  furnished  it  with  necessary  arms  and 
ammunition,  was  entitled  to  a  third  of  all  the  prizes.  Favour 
had  never  any  influence  in  the  division  of  the  booty,  for  every 
share  was  determined  by  lot.  Instances  of  such  rigid  justice  as 
this  are  not  easily  met  with,  and  they  extended  even  to  the  dead. 
Their  share  was  gi\en  to  the  man  who  was  known  to  be  their 
companion  when  ali\"e,  and  therefore  their  heir.  If  the  person 
who  had  been  killed  had  no  intimate,  his  part  was  sent  to  his 
relations,  when  they  were  known.  If  there  were  no  friends  nor 
relations,  it  was  distributed  in  charity  to  the  poor  and  to 
churches,  which  were  to  pray  for  the  person  in  whose  name  these 
benefactions  were  given,  the  fruits  of  inhuman,  but  necessary 
piratical  plunders.'  (Raynal's  History  of  European  Settlements  in 
the  East  and  West  Indies,  by  Justamond,  London,  1776,  8vo,  iii, 
41.) 

Note  ii,  p.  46 

The  view  from  Barnard  Castle  commands  the  rich  and  mag- 
nificent valley  of  Tees.  Immediately  adjacent  to  the  river,  the 
banks  are  very  thickly  wooded ;  at  a  little  distance  they  are  more 
open  and  cultivated;  but,  being  interspersed  with  hedgerows, 
and  with  isolated  trees  of  great  size  and  age,  they  still  retain  the 
richness  of  woodland  scenery.  The  river  itself  flows  in  a  deep 
trench  of  solid  rock,  chiefly  limestone  and  marble.  The  finest 
view  of  its  romantic  course  is  from  a  handsome  modern-built 
bridge  over  the  Tees,  by  the  late  Mr.  Morritt  of  Rokeby.  In 
Leland's  time,  the  marble  quarries  seem  to  have  been  of  some 
value.  'Hard  under  the  cliff  by  Egleston,  is  found  on  eche  side 
of  Tese  very  fair  marble,  wont  to  be  taken  up  booth  by  marbelers 
of  Barnardes  Castelle  and  of  Egleston,  and  partly  to  have  been 
wrought  by  them,  and  partly  sold  onwrought  to  others.'  {Itiner- 
ary, Oxford,  1768,  Bvo,  p.  88.) 

441 


NOTES 

Note  12,  p.  48 

The  ruins  of  this  abbey,  or  priory  (for  Tanner  calls  it  the 
former,  and  Leland  the  latter),  are  beautifully  situated  upon  the 
angle  formed  by  a  little  dell  called  Thorsgill,  at  its  junction 
with  the  Tees.  A  good  part  of  the  religious  house  is  still  in  some 
degree  habitable,  but  the  church  is  in  ruins.  Eglistone  was 
dedicated  to  St.  Mary  and  St.  John  the  Baptist,  and  is  supposed 
to  have  been  founded  by  Ralph  de  Multon  about  the  end  of 
Henry  II's  reign.  There  were  formerly  the  tombs  of  the  families 
of  Rokeby,  Bowes,  and  Fitz-Hugh. 

Note  13,  p.  49 

Close  behind  the  George  Inn  at  Greta  Bridge,  there  is  a  well- 
preserved  Roman  encampment,  surrounded  with  a  triple  ditch, 
lying  between  the  river  Greta  and  a  brook  called  the  Tutta.  The 
four  entrances  are  easily  to  be  discerned.  Very  many  Roman 
altars  and  monuments  have  been  found  in  the  vicinity,  most  of 
which  are  preserved  at  Rokeby  by  my  friend  Mr.  Morritt. 
Among  others  is  a  small  votive  altar,  with  the  inscription,  LEG. 
VI.  VIC.  P.  F.  F.,  which  has  been  rendered,  Legio.  Sexia.  Victrix. 
Pia.  Fortis.  Fidelis. 

Note  14,  p.  49 

This  ancient  manor  long  gave  name  to  a  family  by  whom  it 
is  said  to  have  been  possessed  from  the  Conquest  downward, 
and  who  are  at  different  times  distinguished  in  history.  It  was 
the  Baron  of  Rokeby  who  finally  defeated  the  insurrection  of  the 
Earl  of  Northumberland,  tempore  Hen.  IV,  of  which  Holinshed 
gives  the  following  account:  — 

'The  King,  advertised  hereof,  caused  a  great  armie  to  be 
assembled,  and  came  forward  with  the  same  towards  his  ene- 
mies: but  yer  the  King  came  to  Nottingham,  Sir  Thomas  or 
(as  other  copies  haue)  Sir  Rafe  Rokesbie,  Shiriffe  of  Yorkeshire, 
assembled  the  forces  of  the  countrie  to  resist  the  Earle  and  his 


442 


NOTES 

power;  coming  to  Grimbautbrigs,  beside  Knaresborough,  there 
to  stop  them  the  passage;  but  they  returning  aside,  got  to 
VVeatherbie,  and  so  to  Tadcaster,  and  finally  came  forward  unto 
Bramham-moor,  near  to  Haizlewood,  where  they  chose  their 
ground  meet  to  fight  upon.  The  Shiriffe  was  as  readie  to  giue 
battell  as  the  Erie  to  receiue  it;  and  so  with  a  standard  of  S. 
George  spread,  set  fiercelie  vpon  the  Earle,  who,  vnder  a  stand- 
ard of  his  own  armes,  encountered  his  aduersaries  with  great 
manhood.  There  was  a  sore  incounter  and  cruell  conflict 
betwixt  the  parties,  but  in  the  end  the  victorie  fell  to  the  Shiriffe. 
The  Lord  Bardolfe  was  taken,  but  sore  wounded,  so  that  he 
shortlie  after  died  of  the  hurts.  As  for  the  Earle  of  Northum- 
berland, he  was  slain  outright;  so  that  now  the  prophecy  was 
fulfilled,  which  gaue  an  inkling  of  this  his  heauy  hap  long  before, 
namelie,  — 

Stiips  Persitina  periet  confusa  ruina. 

For  this  Earle  was  the  stocke  and  maine  root  of  all  that  were 
left  aliue,  called  by  the  name  of  Persie;  and  of  manie  more  by 
diuers  slaughters  dispatched.  For  whose  misfortune  the  people 
were  not  a  little  sorrie,  making  report  of  the  gentleman's  valiant- 
nesse,  renowne,  and  honour,  and  applieing  vnto  him  certeine 
lamentable  verses  out  of  Lucaine,  saieng,  — 

Sed  nos  nee  sanguis,  nee  tantum  vulnera  nostri 
Afifecere  senis:  quantum  gestata  per  urbem 
Ora  duels,  quae  transfixo  deformia  pilo 
Vidimus. 

For  his  head,  full  of  siluer  horie  haires,  being  put  upon  a  stake, 
was  openlie  carried  through  London,  and  set  vpon  the  bridge  of 
the  same  citie:  in  like  manner  was  the  Lord  Bardolfes.'  (Holin- 
shed's  Chronicles,  London,  1808,  4to,  iii,  45.) 

The  Rokeby,  or  Rokesby,  family  continued  to  be  distinguished 
until  the  great  Civil  War,  when,  having  embraced  the  cause  of 
Charles  I,  they  suffered  severely  by  fines  and  confiscations. 
The  estate  then  passed  from  its  ancient  possessors  to  the  family 
of  the  Robinsons,  from  whom  it  was  purchased  by  the  father  of 
my  valued  friend,  the  present  proprietor. 

443 


NOTES 

Note  15,  p.  50 

What  follows  is  an  attempt  to  describe  the  romantic  glen,  or 
rather  ravine,  through  which  the  Greta  finds  a  passage  between 
Rokeby  and  Mortham;  the  former  situated  upon  the  left  bank 
of  Greta,  the  latter  on  the  right  bank,  about  half  a  mile  nearer  to 
its  junction  with  the  Tees.  The  river  runs  with  very  great 
rapidity  over  a  bed  of  solid  rock,  broken  by  many  shelving 
descents,  down  which  the  stream  dashes  with  great  noise  and 
impetuosity,  vindicating  its  etymology,  which  has  been  derived 
from  the  Gothic,  Gridan,  to  clamour.  The  banks  partake  of  the 
same  wild  and  romantic  character,  being  chiefly  lofty  cliffs  of 
limestone  rock,  whose  grey  colour  contrasts  admirably  with  the 
various  trees  and  shrubs  which  find  root  among  their  crevices, 
as  well  as  with  the  hue  of  the  ivy,  which  clings  around  them  in 
profusion,  and  hangs  down  from  their  projections  in  long  sweep- 
ing tendrils.  At  other  points  the  rocks  give  place  to  precipitous 
banks  of  earth,  bearing  large  trees  intermixed  with  copsewood. 
In  one  spot  the  dell,  which  is  elsewhere  very  narrow,  widens  for 
a  space  to  leave  room  for  a  dark  grove  of  yew-trees,  intermixed 
here  and  there  with  aged  pines  of  uncommon  size.  Directly 
opposite  to  this  sombre  thicket,  the  cliffs  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Greta  are  tall,  white,  and  fringed  with  all  kinds  of  deciduous 
shrubs.  The  whole  scenery  of  this  spot  is  so  much  adapted  to 
the  ideas  of  superstition,  that  it  has  acquired  the  name  of 
Blockula,  from  the  place  where  the  Swedish  witches  were  sup- 
posed to  hold  their  Sabbath.  The  dell,  however,  has  supersti- 
tions of  its  own  growth,  for  it  is  supposed  to  be  haunted  by  a 
female  spectre,  called  the  Dobie  of  Mortham.  The  cause  assigned 
for  her  appearance  is  a  lady's  having  been  whilom  murdered  in 
the  wood,  in  evidence  of  which,  her  blood  is  shown  upon  the 
stairs  of  the  old  tower  at  Mortham.  But  whether  she  was 
slain  by  a  jealous  husband,  or  by  savage  banditti,  or  by  an 
uncle  who  coveted  her  estate,  or  by  a  rejected  lover,  are  points 
upon  which  the  traditions  of  Rokeby  do  not  enable  us  to 
decide. 


444 


NOTES 

Note  i6,  p.  55 

'Also  I  shall  shew  very  briefly  what  force  conjurers  and 
witches  have  in  constraining  the  elements  enchanted  by  them  or 
others,  that  they  may  exceed  or  fall  short  of  their  natural  order: 
premising  this,  that  the  extream  land  of  North  Finland  and  Lap- 
land was  so  taught  witchcraft  formerely  in  heathenish  times,  as 
if  they  had  learned  this  cursed  art  from  Zoroastres  the  Persian; 
though  other  inhabitants  by  the  sea-coasts  are  reported  to  be 
bewitched  with  the  same  madness;  for  they  exercise  this  divelish 
art,  of  all  the  arts  of  the  world,  to  admiration;  and  in  this,  or 
other  such  like  mischief,  they  commonly  agree.  The  Finland- 
ers  were  wont  formerly,  amongst  their  other  errors  of  gentilisme, 
to  sell  winds  to  merchants  that  were  stopt  on  their  coasts  by 
contrary'  weather;  and  when  they  had  their  price,  they  knit  three 
magical  knots,  not  like  to  the  laws  of  Cassius,  bound  up  with  a 
thong,  and  they  gave  them  unto  the  merchants;  observing  that 
rule,  that  when  they  unloosed  the  first,  they  should  have  a  good 
gale  of  wind;  when  the  second,  a  stronger  wind;  but  when  they 
untied  the  third,  they  should  have  such  cruel  tempests,  that  they 
should  not  be  able  to  look  out  of  the  forecastle  to  avoid  the  rocks, 
nor  move  a  foot  to  pull  down  the  sails,  nor  stand  at  the  helm  to 
govern  the  ship;  and  they  made  an  unhappy  trial  of  the  truth  of 
it  who  denied  that  there  was  any  such  power  in  those  knots.* 
(Olaus  Magnus's  History  of  the  Goths,  Swedes,  and  Vandals, 
London,  1658,  fol.  p.  7.) 

Note  17,  p.  55 

That  this  is  a  general  superstition,  is  well  known  to  all  who 
have  been  on  shipboard,  or  who  have  conversed  with  seamen. 
The  most  formidable  whistler  that  I  remember  to  have  met 
with  was  the  apparition  of  a  certain  Mrs.  Leakey,  who,  about 
1636,  resided,  we  are  told,  at  Mynehead,  in  Somerset,  where  her 
only  son  drove  a  considerable  trade  between  that  port  and 
Waterford,  and  was  owner  of  several  vessels.  This  old  gentle- 
woman was  of  a  social  disposition,  and  so  acceptable  to  her 
friends,  that  they  used  to  say  to  her  and  to  each  other,  it  were 

445 


NOTES 

pity  such  an  excellent  good-natured  old  lady  should  die;  to 
which  she  was  wont  to  reply,  that  whatever  pleasure  they  might 
find  in  her  company  just  now,  they  would  not  greatly  like  to  see 
or  converse  with  her  after  death,  which  nevertheless  she  was 
apt  to  think  might  happen.  Accordingly,  after  her  death  and 
funeral,  she  began  to  appear  to  various  persons  by  night  and  by 
noonday,  in  her  own  house,  in  the  town  and  fields,  at  sea  and 
upon  shore.  So  far  had  she  departed  from  her  former  urbanity, 
that  she  is  recorded  to  have  kicked  a  doctor  of  medicine  for  his 
impolite  negligence  in  omitting  to  hand  her  over  a  stile.  It  was 
also  her  humour  to  appear  upon  the  quay,  and  call  for  a  boat. 
But  especially  so  soon  as  any  of  her  son's  ships  approached  the 
harbour,  *  this  ghost  would  appear  in  the  same  garb  and  likeness 
as  when  she  was  alive,  and,  standing  at  the  mainmast,  would 
blow  with  a  whistle,  and  though  it  were  never  so  great  a  calm, 
yet  immediately  there  would  arise  a  most  dreadful  storm,  that 
would  break,  wreck,  and  drown  ship  and  goods.'  When  she  had 
thus  proceeded  until  her  son  had  neither  credit  to  freight  a 
vessel,  nor  could  have  procured  men  to  sail  it,  she  began  to 
attack  the  persons  of  his  family,  and  actually  strangled  their 
only  child  in  the  cradle.  The  rest  of  her  story,  showing  how  the 
spectre  looked  over  the  shoulder  of  her  daughter-in-law  while 
dressing  her  hair  at  a  looking-glass,  and  how  Mrs.  Leakey  the 
younger  took  courage  to  address  her,  and  how  the  beldam 
despatched  her  to  an  Irish  prelate,  famous  for  his  crimes  and 
misfortunes,  to  exhort  him  to  repentance,  and  to  apprize  him 
that  otherwise  he  would  be  hanged,  and  how  the  bishop  was 
satisfied  with  replying,  that  if  he  was  born  to  be  hanged,  he 
should  not  be  drowned ;  —  all  these,  with  many  more  particu- 
lars, may  be  found  at  the  end  of  one  of  John  Dunton's  publica- 
tions, called  Athenianism  (London,  1 710),  where  the  tale  is 
engrossed  under  the  title  of  The  Apparition  Evidence. 

Note  18,  p.  55 

'This  Ericus,  King  of  Sweden,  in  his  time  was  held  second 
to  none  in  the  magical  art;  and  he  was  so  familiar  with  the  evil 

446 


[NOTES 

spirits,  which  he  exceedingly  adored,  that  which  way  soever  he 
turned  his  cap,  the  wind  would  presently  blow  that  way.  From 
this  occasion  he  was  called  Windy  Cap ;  and  many  men  believed 
that  Regnerus,  King  of  Denmark,  by  the  conduct  of  this  Ericus, 
who  was  his  nephew,  did  happily  extend  his  piracy  into  the  most 
remote  parts  of  the  earth,  and  conquered  many  countries  and 
fenced  cities  by  his  cunning,  and  at  last  was  his  coadjutor;  that 
by  the  consent  of  the  nobles  he  should  be  chosen  King  of  Sweden, 
which  continued  a  long  time  with  him  very  happily,  until  he 
died  of  old  age.'   (Olaus,  ut  supra,  p.  45.) 

Note  19,  p.  55 

This  is  an  allusion  to  a  well-known  nautical  superstition  con- 
cerning a  fantastic  vessel,  called  by  sailors  the  Flying  Dutch- 
man, and  supposed  to  be  seen  about  the  latitude  of  the  Cape  of 
Good  Hope.  She  is  distinguished  from  earthly  vessels  by  bear- 
ing a  press  of  sail  when  all  others  are  unable,  from  stress  of 
weather,  to  show  an  inch  of  canvass.  The  cause  of  her  wander- 
ing is  not  altogether  certain;  but  the  general  account  is,  that 
she  was  originally  a  vessel  loaded  with  great  wealth,  on  board 
of  which  some  horrid  act  of  murder  and  piracy  had  been  com- 
mitted; that  the  plague  broke  out  among  the  wicked  crew  who 
had  perpetrated  the  crime,  and  that  they  sailed  in  vain  from  port 
to  port,  offering,  as  the  price  of  shelter,  the  whole  of  their  ill- 
gotten  wealth;  that  they  were  excluded  from  every  harbour 
for  fear  of  the  contagion  which  was  devouring  them;  and  that, 
as  a  punishment  of  their  crimes,  the  apparition  of  the  ship  still 
continues  to  haunt  those  seas  in  which  the  catastrophe  took 
place,  and  is  considered  by  the  mariners  as  the  worst  of  all 
possible  omens. 

My  late  lamented  friend.  Dr.  John  Leyden,  has  introduced  this 
phenomenon  into  his  Scenes  of  Infancy,  imputing,  with  poetical 
ingenuity,  the  dreadful  judgment  to  the  first  ship  which  com- 
menced the  slave  trade :  — 

Stout  was  the  ship,  from  Benin's  palmy  shore 
That  first  the  weight  of  barter'd  captives  bore; 

447 


m 


NOTES 

Bedimm'd  with  blood,  the  sun  with  shrinking  beams 
Beheld  her  bounding  o'er  the  ocean  streams; 
But,  ere  the  moon  her  silver  horns  had  rear'd. 
Amid  the  crew  the  specified  plague  appear'd. 
Faint  and  despairing  on  their  watery  bier, 
To  every  friendly  shore  the  sailors  steer; 
Repell'd  from  port  to  port,  they  sue  in  vain. 
And  track  with  slow  unsteady  sail  the  main. 
Where  ne'er  the  bright  and  buoyant  wave  is  seen 
To  streak  with  wandering  foam  the  sea-weeds  green. 
Towers  the  tall  mast  a  lone  and  leafless  tree. 
Till  self-impell'd  amid  the  waveless  sea; 
Where  summer  breezes  ne'er  were  heard  to  sing. 
Nor  hovering  snow-birds  spread  the  downy  wing, 
Fix'd  as  a  rock  amid  the  boundless  plain, 
The  yellow  stream  pollutes  the  stagnant  main. 
Till  far  through  night  the  funeral  flames  aspire. 
As  the  red  lightning  smites  the  ghastly  pyre. 

Still  doom'd  by  fate  on  weltering  billows  roU'd, 
Along  the  deep  their  restless  course  to  hold. 
Scenting  the  storm,  the  shadowy  sailors  guide 
The  prow  with  sails  opposed  to  wind  and  tide; 
The  Spectre  Ship,  in  livid  glimpsing  light. 
Glares  baleful  on  the  shuddering  watch  at  night, 
Unblest  of  God  and  man!  —  Till  time  shall  end, 
Its  view  strange  horror  to  the  storm  shall  lend. 


Note  20,  p.  56 

What  contributed  much  to  the  security  of  the  Bucaniers 
about  the  Windward  Islands  was  the  great  number  of  little 
islets  called  in  that  country  'keys.'  These  are  small  sandy 
patches,  appearing  just  above  the  surface  of  the  ocean,  covered 
only  with  a  few  bushes  and  weeds,  but  sometimes  affording 
springs  of  water,  and,  in  general,  much  frequented  by  turtle. 
Such  little  uninhabited  spots  afforded  the  pirates  good  harbours, 
either  for  refitting  or  for  the  purpose  of  ambush;  they  were  occa- 
sionally the  hiding-place  of  their  treasure,  and  often  afforded  a 
shelter  to  themselves.  As  many  of  the  atrocities  which  they 
practised  on  their  prisoners  were  committed  in  such  spots,  there 
are  some  of  these  keys  which  even  now  have  an  indifferent 
reputation  among  seamen,  and  where  they  are  with  difficulty 
prevailed  on  to  remain  ashore  at  night,  on  account  of  the  vision- 
ary terrors  incident  to  places  which  have  been  thus  contamin- 
ated. 

448 


NOTES 

Note  21,  p.  6o 

The  castle  of  Mortham,  which  Leland  terms  '  Mr.  Rokesby's 
Place,  in  ripa  citer,  scant  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  Greta  Bridge, 
and  not  a  quarter  of  a  mile  beneath  into  Tees,'  is  a  picturesque 
tower,  surrounded  by  buildings  of  different  ages,  now  converted 
into  a  farmhouse  and  offices.  The  battlements  of  the  tower 
itself  are  singularly  elegant,  the  architect  having  broken  them 
at  regular  intervals  into  different  heights;  while  those  at  the 
corners  of  the  tower  project  into  octangular  turrets.  They  are 
also  from  space  to  space  covered  with  stones  laid  across  them, 
as  in  modern  embrasures,  the  whole  forming  an  uncommon  and 
beautiful  effect.  The  surrounding  buildings  are  of  a  less  happy 
form,  being  pointed  into  high  and  steep  roofs.  A  wall,  with 
embrasures,  encloses  the  southern  front,  where  a  low  portal  arch 
affords  an  entry  to  what  was  the  castle-court.  At  some  distance 
is  most  happily  placed,  between  the  stems  of  two  magnificent 
elms,  the  monument  alluded  to  in  the  text.  It  is  said  to  have 
been  brought  from  the  ruins  of  Eglistone  Priory,  and,  from  the 
armoury  with  which  it  is  richly  carved,  appears  to  have  been  a 
tomb  of  the  Fitz-Hughs. 

The  situation  of  Mortham  is  eminently  beautiful,  occupying 
a  high  bank,  at  the  bottom  of  which  the  Greta  winds  out  of  the 
dark,  narrow,  and  romantic  dell,  which  the  text  has  attempted 
to  describe,  and  flows  onward  through  a  more  open  valley  to 
meet  the  Tees  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  castle.  Mort- 
ham is  surrounded  by  old  trees,  happily  and  widely  grouped 
with  Mr.  Morritt's  new  plantations. 

Note  22,  p.  62 

If  time  did  not  permit  the  Bucaniers  to  lavish  away  their 
plunder  in  their  usual  debaucheries,  they  were  wont  to  hide  it, 
with  many  superstitious  solemnities,  in  the  desert  islands  and 
keys  which  they  frequented,  and  where  much  treasure,  whose 
lawless  owners  perished  without  reclaiming  it,  is  still  supposed 
to  be  concealed.  The  most  cruel  of  mankind  are  often  the  most 

49  449 


NOTES 

superstitious;  and  these  pirates  are  said  to  have  had  recourse 
to  a  horrid  ritual,  in  order  to  secure  an  unearthly  guardian  to 
their  treasures.  They  killed  a  Negro  or  Spaniard,  and  buried 
him  with  the  treasure,  believing  that  his  spirit  would  haunt 
the  spot,  and  terrify  away  all  intruders.  I  cannot  produce  any 
other  authority  on  which  this  custom  is  ascribed  to  them  than 
that  of  maritime  tradition,  which  is,  however,  amply  sufificient 
for  the  purposes  of  poetry. 

Note  23,  p.  63 

All  who  are  conversant  with  the  administration  of  criminal 
justice,  must  remember  many  occasions  in  which  malefactors 
appear  to  have  conducted  themselves  with  a  species  of  infatua- 
tion, either  by  making  unnecessary  confidences  respecting  their 
guilt,  or  by  sudden  and  involuntary  allusions  to  circumstances 
by  which  it  could  not  fail  to  be  exposed.  A  remarkable  instance 
occurred  in  the  celebrated  case  of  Eugene  Aram.  A  skeleton 
being  found  near  Knaresborough,  was  supposed,  by  the  persons 
who  gathered  around  the  spot,  to  be  the  remains  of  one  Clarke, 
who  had  disappeared  some  years  before,  under  circumstances 
leading  to  a  suspicion  of  his  having  been  murdered.  One 
Houseman,  who  had  mingled  in  the  crowd,  suddenly  said,  while 
looking  at  the  skeleton,  and  hearing  the  opinion  which  was 
buzzed  around,  'That  is  no  more  Dan  Clarke's  bone  than  it  is 
mine!'  —  a  sentiment  expressed  so  positively,  and  with  such 
peculiarity  of  manner,  as  to  lead  all  who  heard  him  to  infer  that 
he  must  necessarily  know  where  the  real  body  had  been  interred. 
Accordingly,  being  apprehended,  he  confessed  having  assisted 
Eugene  Aram  to  murder  Clarke,  and  to  hide  his  body  in  Saint 
Robert's  Cave.  It  happened  to  the  author  himself,  while  con- 
versing with  a  person  accused  of  an  atrocious  crime,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  rendering  him  professional  assistance  upon  his  trial,  to 
hear  the  prisoner,  after  the  most  solemn  and  reiterated  protesta- 
tions that  he  was  guiltless,  suddenly,  and,  as  it  were,  involun- 
tarily, in  the  course  of  his  communications,  make  such  an 
admission  as  was  altogether  incompatible  with  innocence. 

450 


NOTES 

Note  24,  p.  71 

This  tower  has  been  already  mentioned.  It  is  situated  near 
the  northeastern  extremity  of  the  wall  which  encloses  Barnard 
Castle,  and  is  traditionally  said  to  have  been  the  prison.  By  an 
odd  Qoincidence,  it  bears  a  name  which  we  naturally  connect  with 
imprisonment,  from  its  being  that  of  Sir  Robert  Brackenbury, 
lieutenant  of  the  Tower  of  London  under  Edward  IV  and  Richard 
III.  There  is,  indeed,  some  reason  to  conclude  that  the  tower 
may  actually  have  derived  the  name  from  that  family,  for  Sir 
Robert  Brackenbury  himself  possessed  considerable  property 
not  far  from  Barnard  Castle. 

Note  25,  p.  73 

After  the  battle  of  Marston  Moor,  the  Earl  of  Newcastle 
retired  beyond  sea  in  disgust,  and  many  of  his  followers  laid 
down  their  arms,  and  made  the  best  composition  they  could  with 
the  Committees  of  Parliament.  Fines  were  imposed  upon  them 
in  proportion  to  their  estates  and  degrees  of  delinquency,  and 
these  fines  were  often  bestowed  upon  such  persons  as  had 
deserved  well  of  the  Commons.  In  some  circumstances  it  hap- 
pened, that  the  oppressed  cavaliers  were  fain  to  form  family 
alliances  with  some  powerful  person  among  the  triumphant 
party.  The  whole  of  Sir  Robert  Howard's  excellent  comedy  of 
The  Committee  turns  upon  the  plot  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Day  to 
enrich  their  family,  by  compelling  Arabella,  whose  estate  was 
under  sequestration,  to  marry  their  son  Abel,  as  the  price  by 
which  she  was  to  compound  with  Parliament  for  delinquency; 
that  is,  for  attachment  to  the  royal  cause. 

Note  26,  p.  76 

The  patience,  abstinence,  and  ingenuity  exerted  by  the 
North  American  Indians,  when  in  pursuit  of  plunder  or  ven- 
geance, is  the  most  distinguished  feature  in  their  character;  and 
the  activity  and  address  which  they  display  in  their  retreat  is 

451 


NOTES 

equally  surprising.  Adair,  whose  absurd  hypothesis  and  turgid 
style  do  not  affect  the  general  authenticity  of  his  anecdotes,  has 
recorded  an  instance  which  seems  incredible. 

'When  the  Chickasah  nation  was  engaged  in  a  former  war 
with  the  Muskohge,  one  of  their  young  warriors  set  off  against 
them  to  revenge  the  blood  of  a  near  relation.  .  .  .  He  went 
through  the  most  unfrequented  and  thick  parts  of  the  woods,  as 
such  a  dangerous  enterprise  required,  till  he  arrived  opposite 
the  great  and  old-beloved  town  of  refuge,  Koosah,  which  stands 
high  on  the  eastern  side  of  a  bold  river,  about  two  hundred  and 
fifty  yards  broad,  that  runs  by  the  late  dangerous  Albehama- 
Fort,  down  to  the  black  poisoning  Mobille,  and  so  into  the  Gulf 
of  Mexico.  There  he  concealed  himself  under  cover  of  the  top  of 
a  fallen  pine-tree,  in  view  of  the  ford  of  the  old  trading  path, 
where  the  enemy  now  and  then  pass  the  river  in  their  light 
poplar  canoes.  All  his  war-store  of  provisions  consisted  in  three 
stands  of  barbicued  venison,  till  he  had  an  opportunity  to  revenge 
blood,  and  return  home.  He  waited  with  watchfulness  and 
patience  almost  three  days,  when  a  young  man,  a  woman,  and 
a  girl,  passed  a  little  wide  of  him  about  an  hour  before  sunset. 
The  former  he  shot  down,  tomahawked  the  other  two,  and 
scalped  each  of  them  in  a  trice,  in  full  view  of  the  town.  By  way 
of  bravado,  he  shaked  the  scalps  before  them,  sounding  the 
awful  death-whoop,  and  set  off  along  the  trading-path,  trusting 
to  his  heels,  while  a  great  many  of  the  enemy  ran  to  their  arms 
and  gave  chase.  Seven  miles  from  thence  he  entered  the  great 
blue  ridge  of  the  Apalahche  Mountains.  About  an  hour  before 
day  he  had  run  over  seventy  miles  of  that  mountainous  tract; 
then,  after  sleeping  two  hours  in  a  sitting  posture,  leaning  his 
back  against  a  tree,  he  set  off  again  with  fresh  speed.  As  he 
threw  away  the  venison  when  he  found  himself  pursued  by  the 
enemy,  he  was  obliged  to  support  nature  with  such  herbs,  roots, 
and  nuts,  as  his  sharp  eyes,  with  a  running  glance,  directed  him 
to  snatch  up  in  his  course.  Though  I  often  have  rode  that  war- 
path alone,  when  delay  might  have  proved  dangerous,  and  with 
as  fine  and  strong  horses  as  any  in  America,  it  took  me  five  days 

452 


NOTES 

to  ride  from  the  aforesaid  Koosah  to  this  sprightly  warrior's 
place  in  the  Chickasah  country,  the  distance  of  three  hundred 
computed  miles;  yet  he  ran  it,  and  got  home  safe  and  well  at 
about  eleven  o'clock  of  the  third  day,  which  was  only  one  day 
and  a  half  and  two  nights.'  (Adair's  History  of  the  American 
Indians,  London,  1775,  4to,  p.  395.) 

Note  27,  p.  76 

'What  manner  of  cattle-stealers  they  are  that  inhabit  these 
valleys  in  the  marches  of  both  kingdoms,  John  Lesley,  a  Scotche 
man  himself,  and  Bishop  of  Ross,  will  inform  you.  They  sally 
out  of  their  own  borders  in  the  night,  in  troops,  through  unfre- 
quented by-ways  and  many  intricate  windings.  All  the  daytime 
they  refresh  themselves  and  their  horses  in  lurking  holes  they 
had  pitched  upon  before,  till  they  arrive  in  the  dark  in  those 
places  they  have  a  design  upon.  As  soon  as  they  have  seized 
upon  the  booty,  they,  in  like  manner,  return  home  in  the  night, 
through  blind  ways,  and  fetching  many  a  compass.  The  more 
skilful  any  captain  is  to  pass  through  those  wild  deserts,  crooked 
turnings,  and  deep  precipices,  in  the  thickest  mists,  his  reputa- 
tion is  the  greater,  and  he  is  looked  upon  as  a  man  of  an  excellent 
head.  And  they  are  so  very  cunning,  that  they  seldom  have  their 
booty  taken  from  them,  unless  sometimes  when,  by  the  help  of 
bloodhounds  following  them  exactly  upon  the  tract,  they  may 
chance  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  their  adversaries.  When  being 
taken,  they  have  so  much  persuasive  eloquence,  and  so  many 
smooth  insinuating  words  at  command,  that  if  they  do  not  move 
their  judges,  nay,  and  even  their  adversaries  (notwithstanding 
the  severity  of  their  natures)  to  have  mercy,  yet  they  incite 
them  to  admiration  and  compassion.'    (Camden's  Britannia.) 

The  inhabitants  of  the  valleys  of  Tyne  and  Reed  were,  in 
ancient  times,  so  inordinately  addicted  to  these  depredations, 
that  in  1564,  the  Incorporated  Merchant  Adventurers  of  New- 
castle made  a  law  that  none  born  in  these  districts  should  be 
admitted  apprentice.  The  inhabitants  are  stated  to  be  so  gener- 

453 


NOTES 

ally  addicted  to  rapine,  that  no  faith  should  be  reposed  in  those 
proceeding  from  'such  lewde  and  wicked  progenitors.'  This 
regulation  continued  to  stand  unrepealed  until  1771.  A  beggar, 
in  an  old  play,  describes  himself  as  'born  in  Redesdale,  in  North- 
umberland, and  come  of  a  wight-riding  surname,  called  the 
Robsons,  good  honest  men  and  true,  saving  a  little  shifting  for 
their  living,  God  help  them !'  —  a  description  which  would  have 
applied  to  most  Borderers  on  both  sides. 

Reidswair,  famed  for  a  skirmish  to  which  it  gives  name,  is  on 
the  very  edge  of  the  Carter-Fell,  which  divides  England  from 
Scotland.  The  Rooken  is  a  place  upon  Reedwater.  Bertram, 
being  described  as  a  native  of  these  dales,  where  the  habits  of 
hostile  depredation  long  survived  the  union  of  the  crowns,  may 
have  been,  in  some  degree,  prepared  by  education  for  the  exer- 
cise of  a  similar  trade  in  the  wars  of  the  Bucaniers. 

Note  28,  p.  78 

After  one  of  the  recent  battles,  in  which  the  Irish  rebels  were 
defeated,  one  of  their  most  active  leaders  was  found  in  a  bog,  in 
which  he  was  immersed  up  to  the  shoulders,  while  his  head  was 
concealed  by  an  impending  ledge  of  turf.  Being  detected  and 
seized,  notwithstanding  his  precaution,  he  became  solicitous  to 
know  how  his  retreat  had  been  discovered.  '  I  caught,'  answered 
the  Sutherland  Highlander,  by  whom  he  was  taken,  '  the  sparkle 
of  your  eye.'  Those  who  are  accustomed  to  mark  hares  upon 
their  form  usually  discover  them  by  the  same  circumstance. 

Note  29,  p.  82 

The  Campanula  Latifolia,  grand  throatwort,  or  Canterbury 
bells,  grows  in  profusion  upon  the  beautiful  banks  of  the  river 
Greta,  where  it  divides  the  manors  of  Brignall  and  Scargill, 
about  three  miles  above  Greta  Bridge. 

Note  30,  p.  84 

It  is  agreed,  by  all  the  writers  upon  magic  and  witchcraft, 
that  revenge  was  the  most  common  motive  for  the  pretended 

454 


NOTES 

compact  between  Satan  and  his  vassals.  The  ingenuity  of  Regi- 
nald Scot  has  very  happily  stated  how  such  an  opinion  came  to 
root  itself,  not  only  in  the  minds  of  the  public  and  of  the  judges, 
but  even  in  that  of  the  poor  wretches  themselves  who  were 
accused  of  sorcery,  and  were  often  firm  believers  in  their  own 
power  and  their  own  guilt, 

'One  sort  of  such  as  are  said  to  be  witches,  are  women  which 
be  commonly  old,  lame,  blear-eyed,  pale,  foul,  and  full  of 
wrinkles;  poor,  sullen,  superstitious,  or  papists,  or  such  as  know 
no  religion ;  in  whose  drowsie  minds  the  devil  hath  gotten  a  fine 
seat;  so  as  what  mischief,  mischance,  calamity,  or  slaughter  is 
brought  to  pass,  they  are  easily  perswaded  the  same  is  done  by 
themselves,  imprinting  in  their  minds  an  earnest  and  constant 
imagination  thereof.  .  .  .  These  go  from  house  to  house,  and 
from  door  to  door,  for  a  pot  of  milk,  yest,  drink,  pottage,  or 
some  such  relief,  without  the  which  they  could  hardly  live; 
neither  obtaining  for  their  service  or  pains,  nor  yet  by  their  art, 
nor  yet  at  the  devil's  hands  (with  whom  they  are  said  to  make  a 
perfect  and  visible  bargain),  either  beauty,  money,  promotion, 
wealth,  pleasure,  honour,  knowledge,  learning,  or  any  other 
benefit  whatsoever. 

'It  falleth  out  many  a  time,  that  neither  their  necessities  nor 
their  expectation  is  answered  or  served  in  those  places  where 
they  beg  or  borrow,  but  rather  their  lewdness  is  by  their  neigh- 
bours reproved.  And  farther,  in  tract  of  time  the  witch  waxeth 
odious  and  tedious  to  her  neighbours,  and  they  again  are 
despised  and  despited  of  her;  so  as  sometimes  she  curseth  one, 
and  sometimes  another,  and  that  from  the  master  of  the  house, 
his  wife,  children,  cattle,  etc.,  to  the  little  pig  that  lieth  in  the 
stie.  Thus,  in  process  of  time,  they  have  all  displeased  her,  and 
she  hath  wished  evil  luck  unto  them  all;  perhaps  with  curses 
and  imprecations  made  in  form.  Doubtless  (at  length)  some  of 
her  neighbours  die  or  fall  sick,  or  some  of  their  children  are 
visited  with  diseases  that  vex  them  strangely,  as  apoplexies, 
epilepsies,  convulsions,  hot  fevers,  worms,  etc.,  which,  by  igno- 
rant parents,  are  supposed  to  be  the  vengeance  of  witches.  .  .  . 

455 


NOTES 

'The  witch  on  the  other  side,  expecting  her  neighbours'  mis- 
chances, and  seeing  things  sometimes  come  to  pass  according 
to  her  wishes,-  curses,  and  incantations  (for  Bodin  himself  con- 
fesses, that  not  above  two  in  a  hundred  of  their  witchings  or 
wishings  take  effect),  being  called  before  a  justice,  by  due  exam- 
ination of  the  circumstances,  is  driven  to  see  her  imprecations 
and  desires,  and  her  neighbours'  harms  and  losses,  to  concur, 
and,  as  it  were,  to  take  effect;  and  so  confesseth  that  she  (as  a 
goddess),  hath  brought  such  things  to  pass.  Wherein  not  only 
she,  but  the  accuser,  and  also  the  justice,  are  foully  deceived 
and  abused,  as  being,  through  her  confession,  and  other  circum- 
stances, perswaded  (to  the  injury  of  God's  glory)  that  she  hath 
done,  or  can  do,  that  which  is  proper  only  to  God  himself,' 
(Scot's  Discovery  of  Witchcraft,  London,  1655,  fol.  pp.  4,  5.) 

Note  31,  p.  86 

The  troops  of  the  King,  when  they  first  took  the  field,  were 
as  well  disciplined  as  could  be  expected  from  circumstances. 
But  as  the  circumstances  of  Charles  became  less  favourable,  and 
his  funds  for  regularly  paying  his  forces  decreased,  habits  of 
military  license  prevailed  among  them  in  greater  excess.  Lacy 
the  player,  who  served  his  master  during  the  Civil  War,  brought 
out,  after  the  Restoration,  a  piece  called  The  Old  Troop,  in 
which  he  seems  to  have  commemorated  some  real  incidents 
which  occurred  in  his  military  career.  The  names  of  the  officers 
of  the  Troop  sufficiently  express  their  habits.  We  have  Flea- 
Flint  Plunder-Master-General,  Captain  Ferret-Farm,  and  Quar- 
ter-Master Burn-Drop.  The  officers  of  the  Troop  are  in  league 
with  these  worthies,  and  connive  at  their  plundering  the  country 
for  a  suitable  share  in  the  booty.  All  this  was  undoubtedly 
drawn  from  the  life,  which  Lacy  had  an  opportunity  to  study. 
The  moral  of  the  whole  is  comprehended  in  a  rebuke  given  to 
the  lieutenant,  whose  disorders  in  the  country  are  said  to  preju- 
dice the  King's  cause  more  than  his  courage  in  the  field  could 
recompense.  The  piece  is  by  no  means  void  of  farcical  humour. 

456 


NOTES 

Note  32,  p.  88 

The  banks  of  the  Greta,  below  Rutherford  Bridge,  abound  in 
seams  of  greyish  slate,  which  are  wrought  in  some  places  to  a 
very  great  depth  under  ground,  thus  forming  artificial  caverns, 
which,  when  the  seam  has  been  exhausted,  are  gradually  hidden 
by  the  underwood  which  grows  in  profusion  upon  the  romantic 
banks  of  the  river.  In  times  of  public  confusion,  they  might 
be  well  adapted  to  the  purposes  of  banditti. 

Note  33,  p.  96 

There  was  a  short  war  with  Spain  in  1625-26,  which  will  be 
found  to  agree  pretty  well  with  the  chronology  of  the  poem.  But 
probably  Bertram  held  an  opinion  very  common  among  the 
maritime  heroes  of  the  age,  that '  there  was  no  peace  beyond  the 
Line.'  The  Spanish  guarda-costas  were  constantly  employed  in 
aggressions  upon  the  trade  and  settlements  of  the  English  and 
French ;  and  by  their  own  severities,  gave  room  for  the  system 
of  bucaniering,  at  first  adopted  in  self-defence  and  retaliation, 
and  afterwards  persevered  in  from  habit  and  thirst  of  plunder. 

Note  34,  p.  98 

The  laws  of  the  Bucaniers,  and  their  successors  the  Pirates, 
however  severe  and  equitable,  were,  like  other  laws,  often  set 
aside  by  the  stronger  party.  Their  quarrels  about  the  division 
of  the  spoil  fill  their  history,  and  they  as  frequently  arose  out  of 
mere  frolic,  or  the  tyrannical  humour  of  their  chiefs.  An  anec- 
dote of  Teach  (called  Blackbeard)  shews  that  their  habitual  in- 
difference for  human  life  extended  to  their  companions,  as  well 
as  their  enemies  and  captives. 

'One  night,  drinking  in  his  cabin  with  Hands,  the  pilot,  and 
another  man,  Blackbeard,  without  any  provocation,  privately 
draws  out  a  small  pair  of  pistols,  and  cocks  them  under  the  table. 
which,  being  perceived  by  the  man,  he  withdrew  upon  deck, 

457 


NOTES 

leaving  Hands,  the  pilot,  and  the  captain  together.  When  the 
pistols  were  ready,  he  blew  out  the  candles,  and,  crossing  his 
hands,  discharged  them  at  his  company.  Hands,  the  master, 
was  shot  through  the  knee,  and  lamed  for  life ;  the  other  pistol 
did  no  execution.'  (Johnson's  History  of  Pirates,  London,  1724, 
8vo,  I,  38.) 

Another  anecdote  of  this  worthy  may  be  also  mentioned.  '  The 
hero  of  whom  we  are  writing  was  thoroughly  accomplished  this 
way,  and  some  of  his  frolics  of  wickedness  were  so  extravagant, 
as  if  he  aimed  at  making  his  men  believe  he  was  a  devil  incarnate ; 
for,  being  one  day  at  sea,  and  a  little  flushed  with  drink, 
"Come,"  says  he,  "let  us  make  a  hell  of  our  own,  and  try  how 
long  we  can  bear  it."  Accordingly,  he,  with  two  or  three  others, 
went  down  into  the  hold,  and,  closing  up  all  the  hatches,  filled 
several  pots  full  of  brimstone  and  other  combustible  matter, 
and  set  it  on  fire,  and  so  continued  till  they  were  almost  suffo- 
cated, when  some  of  the  men  cried  out  for  air.  At  length  he 
opened  the  hatches,  not  a  little  pleased  that  he  held  out  the 
longest.'  {Ibid.  90.) 

Note  35,  p.  100 

'Immediately  after  supper,  the  huntsman  should  go  to  his 
master's  chamber,  and  if  he  serve  a  king,  then  let  him  go  to  the 
master  of  the  game's  chamber,  to  know  in  what  quarter  he 
determineth  to  hunt  the  day  following,  that  he  may  know  his 
own  quarter;  that  done,  he  may  go  to  bed,  to  the  end  that  he 
may  rise  the  earlier  in  the  morning,  according  to  the  time  and 
season,  and  according  to  the  place  where  he  must  hunt:  then 
when  he  is  up  and  ready,  let  him  drinke  a  good  draught,  and 
fetch  his  hound  to  make  him  breake  his  fast  a  little:  and  let  him 
not  forget  to  fill  his  bottel  with  good  wine:  that  done,  let  him 
take  a  little  vinegar  into  the  palme  of  his  hand,  and  put  it  in  the 
nostrils  of  his  hound,  for  to  make  him  snuffe,  to  the  end  his  scent 
may  be  the  perfecter,  then  let  him  go  to  the  wood.  .  .  .  When 
the  huntsman  perceiveth  that  it  is  time  to  begin  to  beat,  let 
him  put  his  hound  before  him,  and  beat  the  outsides  of  springs 

458 


NOTES 

or  thickets;  and  if  he  find  an  hart  or  deer  that  likes  him,  let  him 
mark  well  whether  it  be  fresh  or  not,  which  he  may  know  as  well 
by  the  maner  of  his  hounds  drawing,  as  also  by  the  eye.  .  .  . 
When  he  hath  well  considered  what  maner  of  hart  it  may  be, 
and  hath  marked  every  thing  to  judge  by,  then  let  him  draw 
till  he  come  to  the  couert  where  he  is  gone  to;  and  let  him  har- 
bour him  if  he  can,  still  marking  all  his  tokens,  as  well  by  the 
slot  as  by  the  entries,  foyles,  or  such-like.  That  done,  let  him 
plash  or  bruse  down  small  twigges,  some  aloft  and  some  below, 
as  the  art  requireth,  and  therewithal!,  whilest  his  hound  is  hote, 
let  him  beat  the  outsides,  and  make  his  ring-walkes  twice  or 
thrice  about  the  wood.'  {The  Noble  Art  of  Venerie  or  Hunting, 
London,  1611,  4to,  pp.  76,  77.) 

Note  36,  p.  103 

The  last  verse  of  this  song  is  taken  from  the  fragment  of  an 
old  Scottish  ballad,  of  which  I  only  recollected  two  verses  when 
the  first  edition  of  Rokehy  was  published.  Mr.  Thomas  Sheridan 
kindly  pointed  out  to  me  an  entire  copy  of  this  beautiful  song, 
which  seems  to  express  the  fortunes  of  some  follower  of  the 
Stuart  family :  — 

It  was  a'  for  our  rightful  king 
That  we  left  fair  Scotland's  strand. 
It  was  a'  for  our  rightful  king 
That  we  e'er  saw  Irish  land. 
My  dear, 
That  we  e'er  saw  Irish  land. 

Now  all  is  done  that  man  can  do, 
And  all  is  done  in  vain! 
My  love!  my  native  land,  adieul 
For  I  must  cross  the  main. 

My  dear, 
For  I  must  cross  the  main. 

He  tum'd  him  round  and  right  about. 
All  on  the  Irish  shore. 
He  gave  his  bridle-reins  a  shake, 
With,  Adieu  for  evermore, 

My  dear, 
Adieu  for  evermore! 

459 


NOTES 

The  soldier  frae  the  war  returns. 
And  the  merchant  frae  the  main, 
But  I  hae  parted  wi'  my  love. 
And  ne'er  to  meet  again, 

My  dear. 
And  ne'er  to  meet  again. 

When  day  is  gone  and  night  is  come. 
And  a'  are  boun'  to  sleep, 
I  think  on  them  that 's  far  awa 
The  lee-lang  night,  and  weep. 

My  dear. 
The  lee-lang  night,  and  weep. 


Note  37,  p.  105 

The  ruins  of  Ravensworth  Castle  stand  in  the  North  Riding 
of  Yorkshire,  about  three  miles  from  the  town  of  Richmond, 
and  adjoining  to  the  waste  called  the  Forest  of  Arkingarth.  It 
belonged  originally  to  the  powerful  family  of  Fitz-Hugh,  from 
whom  it  passed  to  the  Lords  Dacre  of  the  South. 

Note  38,  p.  105 

This  is  a  fragment  of  an  old  cross,  with  its  pediment,  sur- 
rounded by  an  intrenchment,  upon  the  very  summit  of  the  waste 
ridge  of  Stanmore,  near  a  small  house  of  entertainment  called 
the  Spittal.  It  is  called  Rere-Cross,  or  Ree-Cross,  of  which 
Holinshed  gives  us  the  following  explanation:  — 

'At  length  a  peace  was  concluded  betwixt  the  two  kings 
vnder  these  conditions,  that  Malcome  should  enjoy  that  part  ot 
Northumberland  which  lieth  betwixt  Tweed,  Cumberland,  and 
Stainmore,  and  doo  homage  to  the  Kinge  of  England  for  the 
same.  In  the  midst  of  Stainmore  there  shall  be  a  crosse  set  up, 
with  the  Kinge  of  England's  image  on  the  one  side,  and  the 
Kinge  of  Scotland's  on  the  other,  to  signifie  that  one  is  march 
to  England,  and  the  other  to  Scotland.  This  crosse  was  called 
the  Roi-crosse,  that  is,  the  cross  of  the  Kinge.'  (Holinshed, 
Chronicles,  London,  1808,  4to,  v,  280.) 

Holinshed's  sole  authority  seems  to  have  been  Boethius.  But 
it  is  not  improbable  that  his  account  may  be  the  true  one, 

460 


NOTES 

although  the  circumstance  does  not  occur  in  Wintoun's 
Chronicle.  The  situation  of  the  cross,  and  the  pains  taken  to 
defend  it,  seem  to  indicate  that  it  was  intended  for  a  landmark 
of  importance. 

Note  39,  p.  106 

The  duty  of  the  ranger,  or  pricker,  was  first  to  lodge,  or 
harbour  the  deer;  i.e.,  to  discover  his  retreat,  as  described  at 
length  in  Note  35,  p.  458,  and  then  to  make  his  report  to  his 
prince  or  master :  — 

Before  the  King  I  come  report  to  make. 
Then  husht  and  peace  for  noble  Tristrame's  sake  .  .  . 
My  liege,  I  went  this  morning  on  my  quest. 
My  hound  did  stick,  and  seera'd  to  vent  some  beast. 
I  held  him  short,  and  drawing  after  him, 
I  might  behold  the  hart  was  feeding  tryra; 
His  head  was  high,  and  large  in  each  degree. 
Well  paulmed  eke,  and  seem'd  full  sound  to  be. 
Of  colour  browne,  he  beareth  eight  and  tenne, 
Of  stately  height,  and  long  he  seemed  then. 
His  beam  seem'd  great,  in  good  proportion  led. 
Well  barred  and  round,  well  pearled  neare  his  head. 
He  seemed  fayre  tweene  blacke  and  berrie  brounde, 
He  seemes  well  fed  by  all  the  signes  I  found. 
For  when  I  had  well  marked  him  with  eye, 
I  stept  aside,  to  watch  where  he  would  lye. 
And  when  I  had  so  wayted  full  an  houre. 
That  he  might  be  at  layre  and  in  his  boure, 
I  cast  about  to  harbour  him  full  sure; 
My  hound  by  sent  did  me  thereof  assure  .  .  . 

Then  if  he  ask  what  slot  or  view  I  found, 
I  say  the  slot  or  view  was  long  on  ground; 
The  toes  were  great,  the  joynt  bones  round  and  short. 
The  shinne  bones  large,  the  dew-claws  close  in  port: 
Short  ioynted  was  he,  hollow-footed  eke. 
An  hart  to  hunt  as  any  man  can  seeke. 

The  Art  of  Verier ie,  ut  supra,  p.  97. 

Note  40,  p.  108 

About  the  year  of  God  866,  the  Danes,  under  their  celebrated 
leaders  Inguar  (more  properly  Agnar)  and  Hubba,  sons,  it  is 
said,  of  the  still  more  celebrated  Regnar  Lodbrog,  invaded 
Northumberland,  bringing  with  them  the  magical  standard,  so 
often  mentioned  in  poetry,  called  Reafen,  or  Rumfan,  from  its 
bearing  the  figure  of  a  raven :  — 

461 


I 

NOTES  i 

Wrought  by  the  sisters  of  the  Danish  king. 
Of  furious  Ivar  in  a  midnight  hour: 
While  the  sick  moon,  at  their  enchanted  song 
Wrapt  in  pale  tempest,  labour'd  through  the  clouds, 
The  demons  of  destruction  then,  they  say, 
Were  all  abroad,  and  mixing  with  the  woof 
Their  baleful  power:  The  sisters  ever  sung. 
Shake,  standard,  shake  this  ruin  on  our  foes. 

Thomson  and  Mallet's  Alfred. 

The  Danes  renewed  and  extended  their  incursions,  and  began 
to  colonise,  establishing  a  kind  of  capital  at  York,  from  which 
they  spread  their  conquests  and  incursions  in  every  direction. 
Stanmore,  which  divides  the  mountains  of  Westmoreland  and 
Cumberland,  was  probably  the  boundary  of  the  Danish  kingdom 
in  that  direction.  The  district  to  the  west,  known  in  ancient 
British  history  by  the  name  of  Reged,  had  never  been  conquered 
by  the  Saxons,  and  continued  to  maintain  a  precarious  independ- 
ence until  it  was  ceded  to  Malcolm,  King  of  Scots,  by  William 
the  Conqueror,  probably  on  account  of  its  similarity  in  language 
and  manners  to  the  neighbouring  British  kingdom  of  Strath- 
Clyde. 

Upon  the  extent  and  duration  of  the  Danish  sovereignty  in 
Northumberland,  the  curious  may  consult  the  various  authori- 
ties quoted  in  the  Gesta  et  Vestigia  Danorum  extra  Daniam  (ii, 
40).  The  most  powerful  of  their  Northumbrian  leaders  seems 
to  have  been  Ivar,  called,  from  the  extent  of  his  conquests, 
'Widfam,'  that  is,  'The  Strider.' 

Note  41,  p.  108 

The  Tees  rises  about  the  skirts  of  Crossfell,  and  falls  over 
the  cataracts  named  in  the  text  before  it  leaves  the  mountains 
which  divide  the  North-Riding  from  Cumberland.  High  Force 
is  seventy-five  feet  in  height. 

Note  42,  p.  108 

The  Heathen  Danes  have  left  several  traces  of  their  religion 
in  the  upper  part  of  Teesdale.  Balder-garth,  which  derives  its 

462 


NOTES 

name  from  the  unfortunate  son  of  Odin,  is  a  tract  of  waste  land 
on  the  very  ridge  of  Stanmore;  and  a  brook,  which  falls  into 
the  Tees  near  Barnard  Castle,  is  named  after  the  same  deity. 
A  field  upon  the  banks  of  the  Tees  is  also  termed  Woden-Croft, 
from  the  supreme  deity  of  the  Edda.  Thorsgill,  of  which  a 
description  is  attempted  in  stanza  ii,  is  a  beautiful  little  brook 
and  dell,  running  up  behind  the  ruins  of  Eglistone  Abbey.  Thor 
was  the  Hercules  of  the  Scandinavian  mythology,  a  dreadful 
giant-queller,  and  in  that  capacity  the  champion  of  the  gods,  and 
the  defender  of  iAtSgard,  the  northern  Olympus,  against  the  fre- 
quent attacks  of  the  inhabitants  of  Jotunhem.  There  is  an  old 
poem  in  the  Edda  of  Soemund,  called  the  Song  of  Thrym,  which 
turns  upon  the  loss  and  recovery  of  the  mace,  or  hammer,  which 
was  Thor's  principal  weapon,  and  on  which  much  of  his  power 
seems  to  have  depended.  It  may  be  read  to  great  advantage  in 
a  version  equally  spirited  and  literal,  among  the  Miscellaneous 
Translations  and  Poems  of  the  Honourable  William  Herbert. 

Note  43,  p.  113 

The  O'Neale  here  meant,  for  more  than  one  succeeded  to  the 
chieftainship  during  the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  was  Hugh,  the  grand- 
son of  Con  O'Neale,  called  Con  Bacco,  or  the  Lame.  His  father, 
Matthew  O'Kelly,  was  illegitimate,  and,  being  the  son  of  a 
blacksmith's  wife,  was  usually  called  Matthew  the  Blacksmith. 
His  father,  nevertheless,  destined  his  succession  to  him;  and  he 
was  created,  by  Elizabeth,  Baron  of  Dungannon.  Upon  the 
death  of  Con  Bacco,  this  Matthew  was  slain  by  his  brother. 
Hugh  narrowly  escaped  the  same  fate,  and  was  protected  by  the 
English.  Shane  O'Neale,  his  uncle,  called  Shane  Dymas,  was 
succeeded  by  Turlough  Lynogh  O'Neale;  after  whose  death 
Hugh,  having  assumed  the  chieftainship,  became  nearly  as 
formidable  to  the  English  as  any  by  whom  it  had  been  possessed. 
He  rebelled  repeatedly,  and  as  often  made  submissions,  of 
which  it  was  usually  a  condition  that  he  should  not  any  longer 
assume  the  title  of  O'Neale;  in  lieu  of  which  he  was  created  Earl 

463 


NOTES 

of  Tyrone.  But  this  condition  he  never  observed  longer  than 
until  the  pressure  of  superior  force  was  withdrawn.  His  baffling 
the  gallant  Earl  of  Essex  in  the  field,  and  overreaching  him  in 
a  treaty,  was  the  induction  to  that  nobleman's  tragedy.  Lord 
Mountjoy  succeeded  in  finally  subjugating  O'Neale;  but  it  was 
not  till  the  succession  of  James,  to  whom  he  made  personal  sub- 
mission, and  was  received  with  civility  at  court.  Yet,  according 
to  Morrison,  'no  respect  to  him  could  containe  many  weomen  in 
those  parts,  who  had  lost  husbands  and  children  in  the  Irish 
warres,  from  flinging  durt  and  stones  at  the  earle  as  he  passed, 
and  from  reuiling  him  with  bitter  words;  yea,  when  the  earle 
had  been  at  court,  and  there  obtaining  his  majestie's  direction 
for  his  pardon  and  performance  of  all  conditions  promised  him 
by  the  Lord  Mountjoy,  was  about  September  to  returne,  hee 
durst  not  pass  by  those  parts  without  direction  to  the  shiriffes, 
to  convey  him,  with  troopes  of  horse  from  place  to  place,  till  he 
was  safely  imbarked  and  put  to  sea  for  Ireland.*  (Itinerary,  p. 
269.) 

Note  44,  p.  113 

The  chief  victory  which  Tyrone  obtained  over  the  English 
was  in  a  battle  fought  near  Blackwater,  while  he  besieged  a  fort 
garrisoned  by  the  English,  which  commanded  the  passes  into  his 
country. 

'  This  captain  and  his  few  warders  did  with  no  less  courage 
suffer  hunger,  and,  having  eaten  the  few  horses  they  had,  lived 
vpon  hearbes  growing  in  the  ditches  and  wals,  suffering  all 
extremities,  till  the  lord-lieutenant,  in  the  moneth  of  August, 
sent  Sir  Henry  Bagnal,  marshall  of  Ireland,  with  the  most  choice 
companies  of  foote  and  horse-troopes  of  the  English  army  to 
victual  this  fort,  and  to  raise  the  rebels'  siege.  When  the  English 
entered  the  place  and  thicke  woods  beyond  Armagh,  on  the  east 
side,  Tyrone  (with  all  the  rebels  assembled  to  him)  pricked  for- 
ward with  rage,  enuy,  and  settled  rancour  against  the  marshall, 
assayled  the  English,  and  turning  his  full  force  against  the  mar- 
shall's  person,  had  the  successe  to  kill  him,  valiantly  fighting 

464 


NOTES 

among  the  thickest  oi  the  rebels.  Whereupon  the  English  being 
dismayed  with  his  death,  the  rebels  obtained  a  great  victory 
against  them.  I  terme  it  great,  since  the  English,  from  their  first 
arriual  in  that  kingdome,  neuer  had  received  so  great  an  ouer- 
throw  as  this,  commonly  called  the  Defeat  of  Blackewater; 
thirteene  valiant  captaines  and  1500  common  souldiers  (whereof 
many  were  of  the  old  companies  which  had  serued  in  Brittany 
vnder  General  Norreys)  were  slain  in  the  field.  The  yielding  of 
the  fort  of  Blackewater  followed  this  disaster,  when  the  assaulted 
guard  saw  no  hope  of  relief;  but  especially  vpon  messages  sent 
to  Captain  Williams  from  our  broken  forces,  retired  to  Armagh, 
professing  that  all  their  safety  depended  vpon  his  yielding  the 
fort  into  the  hands  of  Tyrone,  without  which  danger  Captaine 
Williams  professed  that  no  want  or  miserie  should  have  induced 
him  thereunto.'  (Fynes  Moryson's  Itinerary,  London,  1617,  fol. 
part  II,  p.  24.) 

Tyrone  is  said  to  have  entertained  a  personal  animosity  against 
the  knight-marshal.  Sir  Henry  Bagnal,  whom  he  accused  of 
detaining  the  letters  which  he  sent  to  Queen  Elizabeth,  explana- 
tory of  his  conduct,  and  off'ering  terms  of  submission.  The  river, 
called  by  the  English,  Blackwater,  is  termed  in  Irish,  Avon-DufT, 
which  has  the  same  signification.  Both  names  are  mentioned  by 
Spenser  in  his  '  Marriage  of  the  Thames  and  the  Medway.'  But 
I  understand  that  his  verses  relate  not  to  the  Blackwater  of 
Ulster,  but  to  a  river  of  the  same  name  in  the  south  of 
Ireland:  — 

Swift  Avon-Duff,  which  of  the  Englishmen 
Is  called  Blackwater. 

Note  45,  p.  114 

Etidox.  What  is  that  which  you  call  Tanist  and  Tanistry? 
These  be  names  and  terms  never  heard  of  nor  known  to  us. 

Iren.  It  is  a  custom  amongst  all  the  Irish,  that  presently 
after  the  death  of  one  of  their  chiefe  lords  or  captaines,  they  doe 
presently  assemble  themselves  to  a  place  generally  appointed 
and  knowne  unto  them,  to  choose  another  in  his  stead,  wher*^ 

49  465 


NOTES 

they  do  nominate  and  elect,  for  the  most  part  not  the  eldest 

Sonne,  nor  any  of  the  children  of  the  lord  deceased,  but  the  next 
to  him  in  blood,  that  is,  the  eldest  and  worthiest,  as  commonly 
the  next  brother  unto  him,  if  he  have  any,  or  the  next  cousin,  or 
so  forth,  as  any  is  elder  in  that  kindred  or  sept ;  and  then  next  to 
them  doe  they  choose  the  next  of  the  blood  to  be  Tanist,  who 
shall  next  succeed  him  in  the  said  captainry,  if  he  live  there- 
unto. 

Eiidox.  Do  they  not  use  any  ceremony  in  this  election,  for 
all  barbarous  nations  are  commonly  great  observers  of  cere- 
monies and  superstitious  rites? 

Iren.  They  use  to  place  him  that  shall  be  their  captaine  upon 
a  stone,  always  reserved  to  that  purpose,  and  placed  commonly 
upon  a  hill.  In  some  of  which  I  have  seen  formed  and  engraven 
a  foot,  which  they  say  was  the  measure  of  their  first  captaine's 
foot;  whereon  hee  standing,  receives  an  oath  to  preserve  all  the 
ancient  former  customes  of  the  countrey  inviolable,  and  to 
deliver  up  the  succession  peaceably  to  his  Tanist,  and  then  hath 
a  wand  delivered  unto  him  by  some  whose  proper  office  that  is; 
after  which,  descending  from  the  stone,  he  turneth  himself 
round,  thrice  forwards  and  thrice  backwards. 

Eudox.  But  how  is  the  Tanist  chosen? 

Iren.  They  say  he  setteth  but  one  foot  upon  the  stone,  and 
receiveth  the  like  oath  that  the  captaine  did.  (Spenser's  View 
of  the  State  of  Ireland,  apud  Works,  London,  1805,  8vo,  viii, 
306.) 

The  Tanist,  therefore,  of  O'Neale,  was  the  heir-apparent  of 
his  power.  This  kind  of  succession  appears  also  to  have  regu- 
lated, in  very  remote  times,  the  succession  to  the  crown  of  Scot- 
land. It  would  have  been  imprudent,  if  not  impossible,  to  have 
asserted  a  minor's  right  of  succession  in  those  stormy  days, 
when  the  principles  of  policy  were  summed  up  in  my  friend  Mr. 
Wordsworth's  lines:  — 

the  good  old  rule 

Sufliceth  them;  the  simple  plan. 
That  they  should  take  who  have  the  power. 
And  they  should  keep  who  can. 

466 


NOTES 


Note  46,  p.  115 

There  is  here  an  attempt  to  describe  the  ancient  Irish  dress, 
of  which  a  poet  of  Queen  Elizabeth's  day  has  given  us  the  follow- 
ing particulars:  — 

I  marvailde  in  my  mynde, 

and  thereupon  did  muse. 
To  see  a  bride  of  heavenlie  hewe 

an  ouglie  fere  to  chuse. 
This  bride  it  is  the  soile, 

the  bridegroome  is  the  karne. 
With  writhed  glibbes,  like  wicked  sprits, 

with  visage  rough  and  stearne; 
With  sculles  upon  their  poalles, 

instead  of  civill  cappes; 
With  speares  in  hand  and  swordes  besydes, 

to  beare  off  after  clappes: 
With  jackettes  long  and  large, 

which  shroud  simplicitie. 
Though  spitfull  dartes  which  they  do  beare 

importe  iniquitie. 
Their  shirtes  be  very  strange, 

not  reaching  past  the  thie: 
With  pleates  on  pleates  thei  pleated  are 

as  thick  as  pleates  may  lye. 
Whose  slea  ves  hang  trailing  douae 

almost  unto  the  shoe; 
And  with  a  mantell  commonlie 

the  Irish  karne  do  goe. 
Now  some  amongst  the  reste 

do  use  another  weede; 
A  coate  I  meane,  of  strange  devise, 

which  fancy  first  did  breade. 
His  skirts  be  very  shorte, 

with  pleates  set  thick  about. 
And  Irish  trouzes  raoe  to  put 

their  strange  protactours  out. 
Derrick's  Image  of  Ireland,  apud  Somers'  Tracts,  Edinburgh,  1809,  4to,  i,  585' 

Some  curious  wooden  engravings  accompany  this  poem,  from 
which  it  would  seem,  that  the  ancient  Irish  dress  was  (the  bon- 
net excepted)  very  similar  to  that  of  the  Scottish  Highlanders. 
The  want  of  a  covering  on  the  head  was  supplied  by  the  mode  of 
plaiting  and  arranging  the  hair,  which  was  called  the  'glibbe.* 
These  glibbes,  according  to  Spenser,  were  fit  marks  for  a  thief, 
since,  when  he  wished  to  disguise  himself,  he  could  either  cut  it 
off  entirely,  or  so  pull  it  over  his  eyes  as  to  render  it  very  hard  to 


467 


NOTES 

recognise  him.  This,  however,  is  nothing  to  the  reprobation 
with  which  the  same  poet  regards  that  favourite  part  of  the 
Irish  dress,  the  mantle. 

'It  is  a  fit  house  for  an  outlaw,  a  meet  bed  for  a  rebel,  and 
an  apt  cloke  for  a  thief.   First,  the  outlaw  being  for  his  many 
crimes  and  villanyes  banished  from  the  townes  and  houses  of 
honest  men,  and  wandring  in  waste  places  far  from  danger  of 
law,  maketh  his  mantle  his  house,  and  under  it  covereth  himself 
from  the  wrath  of  heaven,  from  the  offence  of  the  earth,  and  from 
the  sight  of  men.   When  it  raineth,  it  is  his  pent-house;  when 
it  bloweth  it  is  his  tent;  when  it  freezeth,  it  is  his  tabernacle. 
In  summer  he  can  wear  it  loose,  in  winter  he  can  wrap  it  close; 
at  all  times  he  can  use  it,  never  heavy,  never  cumbersome.  Like- 
wise for  a  rebel  it  is  as  serviceable;  for  in  his  warre  that  he 
maketh  (if  at  least  it  deserve  the  name  of  warre),  when  he  still 
flyeth  from  his  foe,  and  lurketh  in  the  thicke  woods  and  straite 
passages,  waiting  for  advantages,  it  is  his  bed,  yea,  and  almost 
his  household  stuff.     For  the  wood  is  his  house  against  all 
weathers,  and  his  mantle  is  his  couch  to  sleep  in.    Therein  he 
wrappeth  himself  round,  and  coucheth  himself  strongly  against 
the  gnats,  which,  in  that  country,  doe  more  annoy  the  naked 
rebels  while  they  keep  the  woods,  and  doe  more  sharply  wound 
them,  than  all  their  enemies  swords  or  speares,  which  can  seldom 
come  nigh  them :  yea,  and  oftentimes  their  mantle  serveth  them 
when  they  are  neere  driven,  being  wrapped  about  their  left  arme, 
instead  of  a  target,  for  it  is  hard  to  cut  through  with  a  sword; 
besides,  it  is  light  to  beare,  light  to  throw  away,  and  being  (as 
they  commonly  are)  naked,  it  is  to  them  all  in  all.  Lastly,  for  a 
thiefe  it  is  so  handsome  as  it  may  seem  it  was  first  invented  for 
him;  for  under  it  he  may  cleanly  convey  any  fit  pillage  that 
cometh  handsomely  in  his  way,  and  when  he  goeth  abroad  in  the 
night  in  freebooting,  it  is  his  best  and  surest  friend;  for  lying,  as 
they  often  do,  two  or  three  nights  together  abroad  to  watch  for 
their  booty,  with  that  they  can  prettily  shroud  themselves  under 
a  bush  or  bankside  till  they  may  conveniently  do  their  errand; 
and  when  all  is  over,  he  can  in  his  mantle  passe  through  any 

468 


NOTES 

town  or  company,  being  close-hooded  over  his  head,  as  he  useth, 
from  knowledge  of  any  to  whom  he  is  indangered.  Besides  'tis, 
he  or  any  man  els  that  is  disposed  to  mischief  or  villany,  may, 
under  his  mantle,  goe  privily  armed  without  suspicion  of  any, 
carry  his  head-piece,  his  skean,  or  pistol,  if  he  please,  to  be 
always  in  readiness.'  (Spenser's  View  of  the  State  of  Ireland, 
apud  Works,  ut  supra,  viii,  367.) 

The  javelins,  or  darts,  of  the  Irish,  which  they  threw  it  with 
great  dexterity,  appear,  from  one  of  the  prints  already  men- 
tioned, to  have  been  about  four  feet  long,  with  a  strong  steel 
head  and  thick  knotted  shaft. 

Note  47,  p.  116 

The  Irish  chiefs,  in  their  intercourse  with  the  English,  and 
with  each  other,  were  wont  to  assume  the  language  and  style  of 
independent  royalty.  Morrison  has  preserved  a  summons  from 
Tyrone  to  a  neighbouring  chieftain,  which  runs  in  the  following 
terms :  — 

'O'Neale  commendeth  him  unto  you,  Morish  Fitz-Thomas; 
O'Neale  requesteth  you,  in  God's  name,  to  take  part  with  him, 
and  fight  for  your  conscience  and  right;  and  in  so  doing,  O'Neale 
will  spend  to  sea  you  righted  in  all  your  affaires,  and  will  help 
you.  And  if  you  come  not  at  O'Xeale  betwixt  this  and  to-morrow 
at  twelve  of  the  clocke  and  take  his  part,  O'Neale  is  not  behold- 
ing to  you,  and  will  doe  to  the  uttermost  of  his  power  to  over- 
throw you,  if  you  come  not  to  him  at  furthest  by  Satturday 
noone.  From  Knocke  Dumayne  in  Calrie,  the  fourth  of 
February,  1599. 

'O'Neale  requesteth  you  to  come  speake  with  him,  and  doth 
giue  you  his  word  that  you  shall  receive  no  harme  neither  in 
comming  nor  going  from  him,  whether  you  be  friend  or  not,  and 
bring  with  you  to  O'Neale  Gerat  Fitzgerald. 

(Subscribed)  'O'Neale.' 

Nor  did  the  royalty  of  O'Neale  consist  in  words  alone.  Sir 
John  Harrington  paid  him  a  visit  at  the  time  of  his  truce  with 

469 


NOTES 

Essex,  and  after  mentioning  his  'fern  table,  and  fern  forms, 
spread  under  the  stately  canopy  of  heaven,'  he  notices  what 
constitutes  the  real  power  of  every  monarch,  the  love,  namely, 
and  allegiance  of  his  subjects.  'His  guards,  for  the  most  part, 
were  beardless  boys  without  shirts;  who  in  the  frost  wade  as 
familiarly  through  rivers  as  water-spaniels.  With  what  charm 
such  a  master  makes  them  love  him,  I  know  not;  but  if  he  bid 
come,  they  come;  if  go,  they  do  go;  if  he  say  do  this,  they  do  it. ' 
{NugCB  AnliqucB,  London,  1784,  8vo,  I,  251.) 

Note  48,  p.  118 

There  was  no  tie  more  sacred  among  the  Irish  than  that 
which  connected  the  foster-father,  as  well  as  the  nurse  herself, 
with  the  child  they  brought  up. 

'  Foster-fathers  spend  much  more  time,  money,  and  affection 
on  their  foster-children  than  their  own;  and  in  return  take  from 
them  clothes,  money  for  their  several  professions,  and  arms,  and 
even  for  any  vicious  purposes,  fortunes  and  cattle,  not  so  much 
by  a  claim  of  right  as  by  extortion ;  and  they  will  even  carry 
those  things  off  as  plunder.  All  who  have  been  nursed  by  the 
same  person  preserve  a  greater  mutual  affection  and  confidence 
in  each  other  than  if  they  were  natural  brothers,  whom  they  will 
even  hate  for  the  sake  of  these.  When  chid  by  their  parents, 
they  fly  to  their  foster-fathers,  who  frequently  encourage  them 
to  make  open  war  on  their  parents,  train  them  up  to  every 
excess  of  wickedness,  and  make  them  most  abandoned  miscre- 
ants, as,  on  the  other  hand,  the  nurses  make  the  young  women, 
whom  they  bring  up  for  every  excess.  If  a  foster-child  is  sick, 
it  is  incredible  how  soon  the  nurses  hear  of  it,  however  distant, 
and  with  what  solicitude  they  attend  it  by  day  and  night.' 
{Giraldus  Cambrensis,  quoted  by  Camden,  iv,  368.) 

This  custom,  like  many  other  Irish  usages,  prevailed  till  of 
late  in  the  Scottish  Highlands,  and  was  cherished  by  the  chiefs 
as  an  easy  mode  of  extending  their  influence  and  connexion; 
and  even  in  the  Lowlands,  during  the  last  century,  the  con- 

470 


NOTES 

nexion  between  the  nurse  and  foster-child  was  seldom  dissolved 
but  by  the  death  of  one  party. 

Note  49,  p.  122 

Neal  Naighvallach,  or  of  the  Nine  Hostages,  is  said  to  have 
been  monarch  of  all  Ireland,  during  the  end  of  the  fourth  or 
beginning  of  the  fifth  century.  He  exercised  a  predatory  warfare 
on  the  coast  of  England  and  of  Bretagne,  or  Armorica;  and  from 
the  latter  country  brought  off  the  celebrated  Saint  Patrick,  a 
youth  of  sixteen,  among  other  captives,  whom  he  transported  to 
Ireland.  Neal  derived  his  epithet  from  nine  nations,  or  tribes, 
whom  he  held  under  his  subjection,  and  from  whom  he  took 
hostages.  From  one  of  Neal's  sons  were  derived  the  Kineleoguin, 
or  Race  of  Tyrone,  which  afforded  monarchs  both  to  Ireland 
and  to  Ulster.  Neal  (according  to  O'Flaherty's  Ogygia)  was 
killed  by  a  poisoned  arrow,  in  one  of  his  descents  on  the  coast  of 
Bretagne. 

Note  50,  p.  122 

This  Shane-Dymas,  or  John  the  Wanton,  held  the  title  and 
power  of  O'Neale  in  the  earlier  part  of  Elizabeth's  reign,  against 
whom  he  rebelled  repeatedly. 

'This  chieftain  is  handed  down  to  us  as  the  most  proud  and 
profligate  man  on  earth.  He  was  immoderately  addicted  to 
women  and  wine.  He  is  said  to  have  had  two  hundred  tons  of 
wine  at  once  in  his  cellar  at  Dandram,  but  usquebaugh  was  his 
favourite  liquor.  He  spared  neither  age  nor  condition  of  the  fair 
sex.  Altho'  so  illiterate  that  he  could  not  write,  he  was  not  desti- 
tute of  address;  his  understanding  was  strong,  and  his  courage 
daring.  He  had  six  hundred  men  for  his  guard;  four  thousand 
foot,  one  thousand  horse  for  the  field.  He  claimed  superiority 
over  all  the  lords  of  Ulster,  and  called  himself  king  thereof. 
When  commissioners  were  sent  to  treat  with  him,  he  said,  "That, 
tho'  the  Queen  were  his  sovereign  lady,  he  never  made  peace 
with  her  but  at  her  lodging;  that  she  had  made  a  wise  Earl  of 

471 


NOTES 

Macartymore,  but  that  he  kept  as  good  a  man  as  he:  that  he 
cared  not  for  so  mean  a  title  as  Earl ;  that  his  blood  and  power 
were  better  than  the  best ;  that  his  ancestors  were  Kings  of  Ulster ; 
and  that  he  would  give  place  to  none."  His  kinsman,  the  Earl 
of  Kildare,  having  persuaded  him  of  the  folly  of  contending 
with  the  crown  of  England,  he  resolved  to  attend  the  Queen, 
but  in  a  style  suited  to  his  princely  dignity.  He  appeared  in 
London  with  a  magnificent  train  of  Irish  Galloglasses,  arrayed 
in  the  richest  habiliments  of  their  country,  their  heads  bare, 
their  hair  flowing  on  their  shoulders,  with  their  long  and  open 
sleeves  dyed  with  saffron.  Thus  dressed  and  surcharged  with 
military  harness,  and  armed  with  battle-axes,  they  afforded  an 
astonishing  spectacle  to  the  citizens,  who  regarded  them  as  the 
intruders  of  some  very  distant  part  of  the  globe.  But  at  Court 
his  versatility  now  prevailed;  his  title  to  the  sovereignty  of 
Tyrone  was  pleaded  from  English  laws  and  Irish  institutions, 
and  his  allegations  were  so  specious,  that  the  Queen  dismissed 
him  with  presents  and  assurances  of  favour.  In  England  this 
transaction  was  looked  on  as  the  humiliation  of  a  repenting 
rebel ;  in  Tyrone  it  was  considered  as  a  treaty  of  peace  between 
two  potentates.*  (Camden's  Brittania,  by  Gough,  London,  1806, 
fol.  IV,  442.) 

When  reduced  to  extremity  by  the  English,  and  forsaken  by 
his  allies,  this  Shane-Dymas  fled  to  Clandeboy,  then  occupied  by 
a  colony  of  Scottish  Highlanders  of  the  family  of  MacDonell. 
He  was  at  first  courteously  received ;  but  by  degrees  they  began 
to  quarrel  about  the  slaughter  of  some  of  their  friends  whom 
Shane-Dymas  had  put  to  death,  and  advancing  from  words  to 
deeds,  fell  upon  him  with  their  broadswords,  and  cut  him  to 
pieces.  After  his  death  a  law  was  made  that  none  should  presume 
to  take  the  name  and  title  of  O'Neale. 

Note  51,  p.  122 

The  O'Neales  were  closely  allied  with  this  powerful  and  war- 
like family;  for  Henry  Owen  O'Neale  married  the  daughter  of 

472 


NOTES 

Thomas,  Earl  of  Kildare,  and  their  son  Con-More  married  his 
cousin-german,  a  daughter  of  Gerald,  Earl  of  Kildare.  This 
Con-More  cursed  any  of  his  posterity  who  should  learn  the 
English  language,  sow  corn,  or  build  houses,  so  as  to  invite  the 
English  to  settle  in  their  country.  Others  ascribe  this  anathema 
to  his  son  Con-Bacco.  Fearflatha  O'Gnive,  bard  to  the  O'Neales 
of  Clannaboy,  complains  in  the  same  spirit  of  the  towers  and 
ramparts  with  which  the  strangers  had  disfigured  the  fair  sport- 
ing fields  of  Erin.   (See  Walker's  Irish  Bards,  p.  140.) 

Note  52,  p.  123 

Lacy  informs  us,  in  the  old  play  already  quoted,  how  the 
cavalry  raised  by  the  country  gentlemen  for  Charles's  service 
were  usually  officered.  'You,  cornet,  have  a  name  that's  proper 
for  all  cornets  to  be  called  by,  for  they  are  all  beardless  boys 
in  our  army.  The  most  part  of  our  horse  were  raised  thus:  The 
honest  country  gentleman  raises  the  troop  at  his  own  charge; 
then  he  gets  a  Low-country  lieutenant  to  fight  his  troop  safely; 
then  he  sends  for  his  son  from  school  to  be  his  cornet;  and  then 
he  puts  off  his  child's  coat  to  put  on  a  buff-coat:  and  this  is 
the  constitution  of  our  army.' 

Note  53,  p.  123 

Originally  the  order  of  chivalr>'  embraced  three  ranks:  (i)  the 
page;  (2)  the  squire;  (3)  the  knight;  —  a  gradation  which  seems 
to  have  been  imitated  in  the  mystery  of  freemasonry.  But, 
before  the  reign  of  Charles  I  the  custom  of  serving  as  a  squire 
had  fallen  into  disuse,  though  the  order  of  the  page  was  still, 
to  a  certain  degree,  in  observance.  This  state  of  servitude  was 
so  far  from  inferring  anything  degrading,  that  it  was  considered 
as  the  regular  school  for  acquiring  every  quality  necessary  for 
future  distinction.  The  proper  nature,  and  the  decay  of  the 
institution,  are  pointed  out  by  old  Ben  Jonson,  with  his  own 
forcible  moral  colouring.   The  dialogue  occurs  between  Lovell, 

473 


NOTES 

'a  compleat  gentleman,  a  soldier,  and  a  scholar,  known  to  have 
been  page  to  the  old  Lord  Beaufort,  and  so  to  have  followed  him 
in  the  French  wars,  after  companion  of  his  studies,  and  left 
guardian  to  his  son,'  and  the  facetious  Goodstock,  host  of  the 
Light  Heart.  Lovell  had  offered  to  take  Goodstock's  son  for  his 
page,  which  the  latter,  in  reference  to  the  recent  abuse  of  the 
establishment,  declares  as  'a  desperate  course  of  life':  — 

Lovell,  Call  you  that  desperate,  which  by  a  line 
Of  institution,  from  our  ancestors. 
Hath  been  derived  down  to  us,  and  received 
In  a  succession,  for  the  noblest  way 
Of  breeding  up  our  youth,  in  letters,  arms, 
Fair  mien,  discourses,  civil  exercise. 
And  all  the  blazon  of  a  gentleman? 
Where  can  he  learn  to  vault,  to  ride,  to  fence, 
To  move  his  body  gracefuUer;  to  speak 
His  language  purer;  or  to  tune  his  mind. 
Or  manners,  more  to  the  harmony  of  nature, 
Than  in  the  nurseries  of  nobility? 

Hosl.  Ay,  that  was  when  the  nursery's  self  was  noble, 
And  only  virtue  made  it.  not  the  market. 
That  titles  were  not  vented  at  the  drum, 
Or  common  outcry.   Goodness  gave  the  greatness, 
And  greatness  worship:  every  house  became 
An  academy  of  honour;  and  those  parts 
We  see  departed,  in  the  practice,  now. 
Quite  from  the  institution. 

Lovell.  Why  do  you  say  so? 
Or  think  so  enviously?   Do  they  not  still 
Learn  there  the  Centaur's  skill,  the  art  of  Thrace, 
To  ride?  or,  Pollux'  mystery,  to  fence? 
The  Pyrrhic  gestures,  both  to  dance  and  spring 
In  armour,  to  be  active  in  the  wars? 
To  study  figures,  numbers,  and  proportions. 

May  yield  them  great  in  counsels,  and  the  arts  .,: 

Grave  Nestor  and  the  wise  Ulysses  practised?  ''f 

To  make  their  English  sweet  upon  their  tongue,  ' 

As  reverend  Chaucer  says? 

Host.  Sir,  you  mistake; 
To  play  Sir  Pandarus,  my  copy  hath  it. 
And  carry  messages  to  Madame  Cressida; 
Instead  of  backing  the  brave  steed  o'  mornings, 
To  court  the  chambermaid;  and  for  a  leap 
O'  the  vaulting  horse,  to  ply  the  vaulting  house: 
For  exercise  of  arms,  a  bale  of  dice. 
Or  two  or  three  packs  of  cards  to  show  the  cheat, 
And  nimbleness  of  hand;  mistake  a  cloak 
Upon  my  Lord's  back,  and  pawn  it;  ease  his  pocket 
Of  a  superfluous  watch;  or  geld  a  jewel 
Of  an  odd  stone  or  so;  twinge  two  or  three  buttons 

474 


I 


4 


NOTES 

From  off  my  lady's  gown:  These  are  the  arts 
Or  seven  liberal  deadly  sciences 
Of  pagery,  or  rather  paganism. 
As  the  tides  run;  to  which  if  he  apply  him. 
He  may  perhaps  take  a  degree  at  Tyburn 
A  year  the  earlier;  come  to  take  a  lecture 
Upon  Aquinas  at  St.  Thomas  a  Watering's, 
And  so  go  forth  a  laureat  in  hemp  circle! 

Ben  Jonson's  New  Inn,  Act  I,  Scene  iii. 

Note  54,  p.  143 

The  ancient  castle  of  Rokeby  stood  exactly  upon  the  site  of 
the  present  mansion,  by  which  a  part  of  its  walls  is  enclosed.  It 
is  surrounded  by  a  profusion  of  fine  wood,  and  the  park  in  which 
it  stands  is  adorned  by  the  junction  of  the  Greta  and  of  the  Tees. 
The  title  of  Baron  Rokeby  of  Armagh  was,  in  1777,  conferred  on 
the  Right  Reverend  Richard  Robinson,  Primate  of  Ireland, 
descended  of  the  Robinsons,  formerly  of  Rokeby,  in  Yorkshire. 

Note  55,  p.  149 

The  following  brief  pedigree  of  this  very  ancient  and  once 
powerful  family,  was  kindly  supplied  to  the  author  by  Mr. 
Rokeby,  of  Northamptonshire,  descended  of  the  ancient  Barons 
of  Rokeby :  — 

Pedigree  of  the  House  of  Rokeby 

1.  Sir  Alex.  Rokeby,  Knt.  married  to  Sir  Hump.  Liftle's* 

daughter. 

2.  Ralph  Rokeby,  Esq.  to  Tho.  Lumley's  daughter, 

3.  Sir  Tho.  Rokeby,  Knt.  to  Tho.  Hubborn's  daughter. 

4.  Sir  Ralph  Rokeby,  Knt.  to  Sir  Ralph  Biggot's  daughter. 

5.  Sir  Thos.  Rokeby,  Knt.  to  Sir  John  de  IMelsass'  daughter  of 

Bennet-hall  in  Holderness. 

6.  Ralph  Rokeby,  Esq.  to  Sir  Brian  Stapleton's  daughter  of 

Weighill. 

7.  Sir  Thos.  Rokeby,  Knt.  to  Sir  Ralph  Ur>''s  daughter. 2 

8.  Ralph  Rokeby,   Esq.  to  daughter  of  Mansfield,  heir  of 

Morton.' 
'  Lisle.  »  Temp.  Edw.  2di.  •  Temp.  Edw.  3til. 

475 


NOTES 


1 


9.  Sir  Tho.  Rokeby,  Knt.  to  Stroode's  daughter  and  heir, 

10.  Sir  Ralph  Rokeby,  Knt.  to  Sir  Jas.  Strangwayes'  daughter.  _ 

11.  Sir  Thos.  Rokeby,  Knt.  to  Sir  John  Hotham's  daughter,  ■ 

12.  Ralph  Rokeby,  Esq,  to  Danby  of  Yafforth's  daughter  and 

heir.* 

13.  Tho,  Rokeby,  Esq,  to  Rob,  Constable's  daughter  of  Cliff, 

serjt  at  law. 

14.  Christopher  Rokeby,  Esq.  to  Lasscells  of  Brackenburgh's 

daughter. '^  ,  \ 

15.  Thos.  Rokeby,  Esq,  to  the  daughter  of  Thweng. 

16.  Sir  Thomas  Rokeby,  Knt.  to  Sir  Ralph  Lawson's  daughter 

of  Brough. 

17.  Frans.  Rokeby,  Esq.  to  Faucett's  daughter,  citizen  of  Lon- 

don. 

18.  Thos.  Rokeby,  Esq.  to  the  daughter  of  Wickliffe  of  Gales. 

High  Sheriffs  of  Yorkshire 

1337.  II  Edw.  3.  Ralph  Hastings  and  Thos.  de  Rokeby. 

1343.  17  Edw.  3.   Thos.  de  Rokeby,  pro  sept,  annis. 

1358.  25  Edw.  3.  Sir  Thomas  Rokeby,  Justiciary  of  Ireland  for 

six  years;  died  at  the  castle  of  Kilka. 
1407.  8  Hen.  4.     Thos.  Rokeby  Miles,  defeated  and  slew  the 

Duke  of  Northumberland  at  the  Battle  of 

Bramham  Moor. 
141 1.  12  Hen.  4.   Thos.  Rokeby  Miles. 

i486 Thomas  Rokeby,  Esq. 

1539 Robert  Holgate,  Bish.  of  Landaff,  afterwards 

P.  of  York,  Ld.  President  of  the  Council  for 

the  Preservation  of  Peace  in  the  North. 
1564.  6  Eliz.  Thomas  Younge,  Archbishop  of  Yorke,  Ld. 

President. 
30  Hen.  8.   Tho.  Rokeby,  LL.D.  one  of  the  Council. 
Jn.  Rokeby,  LLD.  one  of  the  Council. 

*  Temp.  Henr.  ymi,  and  from  him  is  the  house  of  Skyers,  of  a  fourth  brother. 
»  From  him  is  the  house  of  Hotham,  and  of  the  second  brother  that  had  issua 

476 


NOTES 

1572.  15  Eliz.        Henry  Hastings,  Earl  of  Huntingdon,  Ld. 
President. 
Jo.  Rokeby,  Esq.  one  of  the  Council. 
Jo.  Rokeby,  LLD.  ditto. 
Ralph  Rokeby,  Esq.  one  of  the  Secretaries. 
1574.  17  Eliz.        Jo.  Rokeby,  Precentor  of  York. 

7  Will.  3.   Sir  J.  Rokeby,  Knt.  one  of  the  Justices  of  the 
King's  Bench. 

'The  family  of  De  Rokeby  came  over  with  the  Conqueror. 

'The  old  motto  belonging  to  the  family  is  In  Bivio  Dextra. 

'The  arms,  argent,  chevron  sable,  between  three  rooks 
proper. 

'There  is  somewhat  more  to  be  found  in  our  family  in  the 
Scottish  History  about  the  affairs  of  Dun-Bretton  town,  but 
what  it  is,  and  in  what  time,  I  know  not,  nor  can  have  convenient 
leisure  to  search.  But  Parson  Blackwood,  the  Scottish  chaplain 
to  the  Lord  of  Shrewsbury,  recited  to  me  once  a  piece  of  a  Scot- 
tish song,  wherein  was  mentioned,  that  William  Wallis,  the 
great  deliverer  of  the  Scots  from  the  English  bondage,  should, 
at  Dun-Bretton,  have  been  brought  up  under  a  Rokeby,  captain 
then  of  the  place;  and  as  he  walked  on  a  cliff,  should  thrust  him 
on  a  sudden  into  the  sea,  and  thereby  have  gotten  that  hold, 
which,  I  think,  was  about  the  33d  of  Edw.  I,  or  before.  Thus, 
leaving  our  ancestors  of  record,  we  must  also  with  them  leave 
the  Chronicle  of  Malmesbury  Abbey,  called  Eulogium  His  tori- 
arum,  out  of  which  Mr.  Leland  reporteth  this  history,  and  coppy 
down  unwritten  story,  the  which  have  yet  the  testimony  of 
latter  times,  and  the  fresh  memory  of  men  yet  alive,  for  their 
warrant  and  creditt,  of  whom  I  haye  learned  it  that  in 
K.  Henry  the  7th's  reign,  one  Ralph  Rokeby,  Esq.,  was  owner 
of  Morton,  and  I  guess  that  this  was  he  that  deceived  the 
fryars  of  Richmond  with  his  felon  swine,  on  which  a  jargon 
was  made.' 

The  above  is  a  quotation  from  a  manuscript  written  by  Ralph 
Rokeby;  when  he  lived  is  uncertain. 

477 


NOTES  '] 

To  what  metrical  Scottish  tradition  Parson  Blackwood  alluded, 
it  would  be  now  in  vain  to  enquire.  But  in  Blind  Harry's  His- 
tory of  Sir  William  Wallace,  we  find  a  legend  of  one  Rukbie, 
whom  he  makes  keeper  of  Stirling  Castle  under  the  English 
usurpation,  and  whom  Wallace  slays  with  his  own  hand:  — 

In  the  great  press  Wallace  and  Rukbie  met, 
With  his  good  sword  a  stroke  upon  him  set; 
Derfly  to  death  the  old  Rukbie  he  drave, 
But  his  two  sons  escaped  among  the  lave. 

These  sons,  according  to  the  romantic  Minstrel,  surrendered  the 
castle  on  conditions,  and  went  back  to  England,  but  returned  to 
Scotland  in  the  days  of  Bruce,  when  one  of  them  became  again 
keeper  of  Stirling  Castle.  Immediately  after  this  achievement 
follows  another  engagement,  between  Wallace  and  those  Western 
Highlanders  who  embraced  the  English  interest,  at  a  pass  in 
Glendonchart,  where  many  were  precipitated  into  the  lake  over 
a  precipice.  These  circumstances  may  have  been  confused  in 
the  narrative  of  Parson  Blackwood,  or  in  the  recollection  of  Mr. 
Rokeby. 

In  the  old  ballad  of  Chevy  Chase,  there  is  mentioned,  among 
the  English  warriors,  'Sir  Raflf  the  ryche  Rugbe,'  which  may  SHj 
apply  to  Sir  Ralph  Rokeby,  the  tenth  baron  in  the  pedigree. 
The  more  modern  copy  of  the  ballad  runs  thus:  — 


Good  Sir  Ralph  Raby  ther  was  slain, 
Whose  prowess  did  surmount. 

This  would  rather  seem  to  relate  to  one  of  the  Nevilles  of  Raby. 
But  as  the  whole  ballad  is  romantic,  accuracy  is  not  to  be  looked 
for. 

Note  56,  p.  150 

The  ancient  minstrels  had  a  comic  as  well  as  a  serious  strain 
of  romance;  and  although  the  examples  of  the  latter  are  by  far 
the  most  numerous,  they  are,  perhaps,  the  less  valuable.  The 
comic  romance  was  a  sort  of  parody  upon  the  usual  subjects  of 
minstrel  poetry.  If  the  latter  described  deeds  of  heroic  achieve- 
ment, and  the  events  of  the  battle,  the  tourney,  and  the  chase, 

478 


P 


NOTES 

the  former,  as  in  the  Tournament  of  Tottenham,  introduced  a  set 
of  clowns  debating  in  the  field,  with  all  the  assumed  circum- 
stances of  chivalry ;  or,  as  in  the  Hunting  of  the  Hare  (see  Weber's 
Metrical  Romances,  iii),  persons  of  the  same  description  fol- 
lowing the  chase,  with  all  the  grievous  mistakes  and  blunders 
incident  to  such  unpractised  sportsmen.  The  idea,  therefore,  of 
Don  Quixote's  frenzy,  although  inimitably  embodied  and 
brought  out,  was  not,  perhaps,  in  the  abstract,  altogether  origi- 
nal. One  of  the  very  best  of  these  mock  romances,  and  which  has 
no  small  portion  of  comic  humour,  is  the  Hunting  of  the  Felon 
Sow  of  Rokeby  by  the  Friars  of  Richmond.  Ralph  Rokeby,  who 
(for  the  jest's  sake  apparently)  bestowed  this  intractable  animal 
on  the  convent  of  Richmond,  seems  to  have  flourished  in  the  time 
of  Henry  VII,  which,  since  we  know  not  the  date  of  Friar 
Theobald's  wardenship,  to  which  the  poem  refers  us,  may  indi- 
cate that  of  the  composition  itself.  Morton,  the  Mortham  of  the 
text,  is  mentioned  as  being  this  facetious  baron's  place  of  resi- 
dence: accordingly,  Leland  notices,  that  'Mr.  Rokeby  hath  a 
place  called  Mortham,  a  little  beneath  Grentey-Bridge,  almost 
on  the  mouth  of  Grentey.'  That  no  information  may  be  lacking 
which  is  in  my  power  to  supply,  I  have  to  notice,  that  the  Mis- 
tress Rokeby  of  the  romance,  who  so  charitably  refreshed  the 
sow  after  she  had  discomfited  Friar  Middleton  and  his  auxilia- 
ries, was,  as  appears  from  the  pedigree  of  the  Rokeby  family, 
daughter  and  heir  of  Danby  of  Yafforth. 

This  curious  poem  was  first  published  in  Mr.  Whitaker's  His- 
tory of  Craven,  but  from  an  inaccurate  manuscript,  not  corrected 
very  happily.  It  was  transferred  by  Mr.  Evans  to  the  new  edi- 
tion of  his  Ballads,  with  some  well-judged  conjectural  improve- 
ments. I  have  been  induced  to  give  a  more  authentic  and  full, 
though  still  an  imperfect,  edition  of  this  humorous  composition, 
from  being  furnished  with  a  copy  from  a  manuscript  in  the  pos- 
session of  Mr.  Rokeby,  to  whom  I  have  acknowledged  my  obli- 
gations in  the  last  Note.  It  has  three  or  four  stanzas  more  than 
that  of  Mr.  Whitaker,  and  the  language  seems,  where  they  differ, 
to  have  the  more  ancient  and  genuine  readings. 

479 


NOTES 

THE  FELON  SOW  OF  ROKEBY  AND  THE  FRIARS  OF  RICHMOND 

Ye  men  that  will  of  aunters  '  winne, 
That  late  within  this  land  hath  beene, 

Of  one  I  will  you  tell; 
And  of  a  sew  '  that  was  sea  '  Strang, 
Alas!  that  ever  she  lived  sea  lang, 

For  fell  *  folk  did  she  whell. « 

She  was  mare  •  than  other  three. 
The  grisliest  beast  that  ere  might  be. 

Her  head  was  great  and  gray: 
She  was  bred  in  Rokeby  wood. 
There  were  few  that  thither  goed,' 

That  came  on  live '  away. 

Her  walk  was  endlong '  Greta  side:   ' 
There  was  no  bren  'o  that  durst  her  bide, 

That  was  froe  ''  heaven  to  hell; 
Nor  never  man  that  had  that  might. 
That  ever  durst  come  in  her  sight. 

Her  force  it  was  so  fell. 

Ralph  of  Rokeby,  with  good  will, 

The  Fryers  of  Richmond  gave  her  till'* 

Full  well  to  garre  '^  them  fare: 
Fryar  Middleton  by  his  name, 
He  was  sent  to  fetch  her  hame. 

That  rued  him  sine  '*  full  sare. 

With  him  tooke  he  wicht  men  two, 
Peter  Dale  was  one  of  thoe. 

That  ever  was  brim  as  beare;  *' 
And  well  durst  strike  with  sword  and  knife. 
And  fight  full  manly  for  his  life. 

What  time  as  mister  ware." 

These  three  men  went  at  God's  will. 
This  wicked  sew  while  they  came  till, 

Liggan  "  under  a  tree; 
Rugg  and  rusty  was  her  haire; 
She  raise  up  with  a  felon  fare,'* 

To  fight  against  the  three. 

»  Both  MS.  and  Mr.  Whitaker's  copy  read  '  ancestors,'  evidently  a  corruption 
of  '  aunters,'  adventures,  as  corrected  by  Mr.  Evans. 

«  Sow,  according  to  provincial  pronunciation.  '  So;  Yorkshire  dialect. 

«  Fele,  many;  Sax.  '  A  corruption  of  '  quell,'  to  kill. 

e  More,  greater.  »  Went.  »  Alive. 

»  Along  the  side  of  Greta.  "  Bam,  child,  man  in  general. 

11  From.  "  To.  "  Make.  "  Since. 

>5  Fierce  as  a  bear.  Mr.  Whitaker's  copy  reads,  perhaps  in  consequence  of 
mistaking  the  MS.,  '  T'other  was  Bryan  of  Bear.' 

18  Need  were.   Mr.  Whitaker  reads  '  musters.'  "  Lying. 

»8  A  fierce  countenance  or  manner. 

480 


NOTES 


•  Saw. 

'  Wight,  brave 
'auncestors.' 
'  Assaulted. 

•  Dare. 


She  was  so  grisely  for  to  meete, 
She  rave  the  earth  up  with  her  feete. 

And  bark  came  fro  the  tree; 
When  Fryar  Middleton  her  saugh,* 
Weet  ye  well  he  might  not  laugh, 
Full  earnestly  look't  hee. 

These  men  of  aunters  that  was  so  wight,' 
They  bound  them  bauldly  '  for  to  fight, 

And  strike  at  her  full  sare: 
Until  a  kiln  they  garred  her  flee. 
Wold  God  send  them  the  victory. 

They  wold  ask  him  noa  mare. 

The  sew  was  in  the  kiln  hole  down, 
As  they  were  on  the  balke  aboon,* 

For  '  hurting  of  their  feet; 
They  were  so  saulted '  with  this  sew. 
That  among  them  was  a  stalworth  stew. 

The  kiln  began  to  reeke. 

Durst  noe  man  neigh  her  with  his  hand, 
But  put  a  rape  '  down  with  his  wand, 

And  haltered  her  full  meete; 
They  hurled  her  forth  against  her  will. 
Whiles  they  came  into  a  hill 

A  little  fro  the  street.' 

And  there  she  made  them  such  a  fray. 
If  they  should  live  to  Doomes-day, 

They  tharrow  '  it  ne'er  forgett; 
She  braded  '"  upon  every  side. 
And  ran  on  them  gaping  full  wide, 

For  nothing  would  she  lett." 

She  gave  such  brades  '^  at  the  band 
That  Peter  Dale  had  in  his  hand. 

He  might  not  hold  his  feet. 
She  chafed  them  to  and  fro, 
The  wight  men  was  never  soe  woe. 

Their  measure  was  not  so  meete. 

She  bound  her  boldly  to  abide; 
To  Peter  Dale  she  came  aside. 

With  many  a  hideous  yell; 
She  gaped  soe  wide  and  cried  soe  hee, 
The  Fryar  seid,  '  I  conjure  thee," 

Thou  art  a  fiend  of  hell. 


The  Rokeby  MS.  reads  '  incouriters,'  and  Mr.  Whitaker, 
Boldly.  *  On  the  beam  above.  '  To  prevent. 

'  Rope.  8  VVatling  Street.    See  the  .sequel. 

»«  Rushed.  »  Leave  it.  "  Pulls. 

*'  This  line  is  wanting  in  Mr.  Whitaker's  copy,  whence  it  has  been  conjectured 
that  something  is  wanting  after  this  stanza,  which  now  there  is  no  occasion  to 
suppose. 


49 


481 


NOTES 


*  Thou  art  come  hither  for  some  traine,* 
I  conjure  thee  to  go  agaiae 

Where  thou  was  wont  to  dwell.' 
He  sayned  ^  him  with  crosse  and  creede 
Took  forth  a  book,  began  to  reade 

In  St.  John  his  gospell. 

The  sew  she  would  not  Latin  heare, 
But  rudely  rushed  at  the  Frear, 

That  blinked  all  his  blee;  » 
And  when  she  would  have  taken  her  hold 
The  Fryar  leaped  as  Jesus  wold. 

And  bealed  him  *  with  a  tree. 

She  was  as  brim »  as  any  beare. 
For  all  their  raeete  to  labour  there.' 

To  them  it  was  no  boote: 
Upon  trees  and  bushes  that  by  her  stood 
She  ranged  as  she  was  wood,' 

And  rave  them  up  by  roote. 

He  sayd, '  Alas,  that  I  was  Frear! 
And  I  shall  be  rugged  s  in  sunder  here. 

Hard  is  my  destiniel 
Wist »  my  brethren  in  this  houre. 
That  I  was  sett  in  such  a  stoure," 

They  would  pray  for  me." 

This  wicked  beast  that  wrought  this  woe, 
Tooke  that  rape  from  the  other  two. 

And  then  they  fledd  all  three; 
Then  fledd  away  by  Watling-street, 
They  had  no  succour  but  their  feet. 

It  was  the  more  pity. 

The  feild  it  was  both  lost  and  wonne;  " 
The  sew  went  hame,  and  that  full  soone. 

To  Morton  on  the  Greene: 
When  Ralph  of  Rokeby  saw  the  rape,*' 
He  wist  "  that  there  had  been  debate, 

Whereat  the  sew  had  beene. 

•  Evil  device.    '  Blessed,  Fr.    '  Lost  his  colour.     <  Sheltered  himself.     '  Fierce. 
•The  MS.  reads,  '  to  labour  weere.'    The  text  seems  to  mean,  that  all  their 
abour  to  obtain  their  intended  meat  was  of  no  use  to  them.  Mr.  Whitaker  reads,  — 
She  was  brim  as  any  boar. 
And  gave  a  grisly  hideous  roar, 
To  them  it  was  no  boot. 
Besides  the  want  of   connexion  between  the  last  line  and  the  two  former,  the 
second  has  a  very  modern  sound,  and  the  reading  of  the  Rokeby  MS.  with  the 
slight  alteration  in  the  text,  is  much  better. 

'  Mad.  8  Torn,  pulled.  »  Knew.  '"  Combat,  perilous  fight. 

u  This  stanza,  with  the  two  following,  and  the  fragment  of  a  fourth,  are  not  in 
Mr.  Whitaker's  edition. 
"  The  rope  about  the  sow's  neck.  "  Knew. 


482 


NOTES 

He  bade  them  stand  out  of  her  way; 
For  she  had  had  a  sudden  fray,  — 

'  I  saw  never  so  keene; 
Some  new  things  shall  we  heare 
Of  her  and  Middleton  the  Frear, 
Some  battel!  hath  there  beene.' 

But  all  that  served  him  for  nought, 
Had  they  not  better  succour  sought. 

They  were  served  therefore  loe. 
Then  Mistress  Rokeby  came  anon, 
And  for  her  brought  shee  meate  full  soone. 

The  sew  came  her  unto. 

She  gave  her  meate  upon  the  flower, 
1 

[Hiatus  valde  deflendus.] 

When  Fryar  Middleton  came  home, 
His  brethren  was  full  faine  ilkone,' 

And  thanked  God  of  his  life; 
He  told  them  all  unto  the  end. 
How  he  had  foughten  with  a  fiend. 

And  hved  through  mickle  strife. 

•  We  gave  her  battell  half  a  day. 
And  sithen'  was  fain  to  fly  away. 

For  saving  of  our  life;  * 
And  Pater  Dale  would  never  blinn, » 
But  as  fast  as  he  could  rj'n,  » 
Till  he  came  to  his  wife.' 

The  warden  said,  '  I  am  full  of  woe. 
That  ever  ye  should  be  torment  so. 

But  wee  with  you  had  beene! 
Had  we  been  there  your  brethren  all. 
Wee  should  have  garred  the  warle  '  fall, 

That  wrought  you  all  this  teyne.'  » 

Fryar  Middleton  said  soon,  '  Nay, 
In  faith  you  would  have  fled  away. 

When  most  mister »  had  been ; 
You  will  all  speake  words  at  hame, 
A  man  would  ding'"  you  every  ilk  ane. 

And  if  it  be  as  I  weine.' 

He  look't  so  griesly  all  that  night. 
The  warden  said,  •  Yon  man  will  fight 

»  This  line  is  almost  iUegible.  2  Each  one.  '  Since  then,  after  that. 

«  The  above  lines  are  wanting  in  Mr.  Whitaker's  copy.  6  Cease,  stop. 

'  Run.  1  Warlock,  or  wizard.        «  Harm.  »  Need. 

"  Beat.  The  copy  in  Mr.  Whitaker's  History  of  Craven  reads,  perhaps  better,  - 
The  fiend  would  ding  you  down  ilk  one. 

483 


NOTES 

If  you'say  ought  but  good; 
Yon  guest '  hath  grieved  him  so  sare, 
Hold  your  tongues  and  speake  noe  mare. 

He  looks  as  he  were  woode.' 

The  warden  waged  '  on  the  morne. 
Two  boldest  men  that  ever  were  borne, 

I  weine,  or  ever  shall  be; 
The  one  was  Gibbert  Griffin's  son. 
Full  mickle  worship  has  he  wonne. 

Both  by  land  and  sea. 

The  other  was  a  bastard  son  of  Spain, 
Many  a  Sarazin  hath  he  slain, 

His  dint'  hath  gart  them  die. 
These  two  men  the  battle  undertooke, 
Against  the  sew,  as  says  the  booke. 

And  sealed  security, 

That  they  should  boldly  bide  and  fight; 
And  skomfit  her  in  maine  and  might, 

Or  therefore  should  they  die. 
The  warden  sealed  to  them  againe. 
And  said,  '  In  feild  if  ye  be  slain. 

This  condition  make  I: 

•  We  shall  for  you  pray,  sing,  and  read 
To  doomesday  with  hearty  speede. 

With  all  our  progeny.' 
Then  the  letters  well  was  made. 
Bands  bound  with  seales  brade,< 

As  deedes  of  armes  should  be. 

These  men  of  armes  that  weere  so  wight. 
With  armour  and  with  brandes  bright. 

They  went  this  sew  to  see; 
She  made  on  them  slike  a  rerd,^ 

•  That  for  her  they  were  sare  afer'd. 

And  almost  bound  to  flee. 

She  came  roving  them  egaine; 
That  saw  the  bastard  son  of  Spaine, 

He  braded'  out  his  brand: 
Full  spiteously  at  her  he  strake, 
For  all  the  fence  that  he  could  make. 

She  gat  sword  out  of  hand : 
And  rave  in  sunder  half  his  shielde. 
And  bare  him  backward  in  the  fielde. 

He  might  not  her  gainstand. 

I  'Yon  guest,'  may  be  'yon  gesl.'  i.e.,  that  adventure:  or  it  may  mean  'yon 
ghaisl,'  or  apparition,  which  in  old  poems  is  applied  sometimes  to  what  is  super- 
naturally  hideous.  The  printed  copy  reads, '  The  beast  hath,'  etc. 

J  Hired,  a  Yorkshire  phrase.  '  Blow.  «  Broad,  large. 

6  Such  like  a  roar.  •  Drew  out. 


484 


NOTES 

She  would  have  riven  his  privich  geare. 
But  Gilbert  with  his  sword  of  werre. 

He  strake  at  her  full  strong. 
On  her  shoulder  till  she  held  the  swerd; 
Then  was  good  Gilbert  sore  afer'd, 

When  the  blade  brake  in  throng.* 

Since  in  his  hands  he  hath  her  tane. 
She  tooke  him  by  the  shoulder  bane,* 

And  held  her  hold  full  fast. 
She  strave  so  stiffly  in  that  stower,' 
That  through  all  his  rich  armour 

The  blood  came  at  the  last. 

Then  Gilbert  grieved  was  sea  sare, 
That  he  rave  off  both  hide  and  haire. 

The  flesh  came  fro  the  bone; 
And  with  all  force  he  felled  her  there. 
And  wann  her  worthily  in  werre. 

And  band  her  him  alone. 

And  lift  her  on  a  horse  sea  hee. 
Into  two  panniers  well  made  of  a  tre, 

And  to  Richmond  they  did  hay;  * 
When  they  saw  her  come, 
They  sang  merrily  Te  Deum, 

The  Fryers  on  that  day.' 

They  thanked  God  and  St.  Francis, 
As  they  had  won  the  best  of  pris,« 

And  never  a  man  was  slain: 
There  did  never  a  man  more  manly. 
Knight  Marcus,  nor  yett  Sir  Gui, 

Nor  Loth  of  Louthyane.' 

If  ye  will  any  more  of  this, 

In  the  Fr>'ers  of  Richmond  't  is 

In  parchment  good  and  fine; 
And  how  Fryar  Middleton  that  was  so  kend,* 
At  Greta  Bridge  conjured  a  fiend 

In  likeness  of  a  swine. 

It  is  well  known  to  many  a  man. 

That  Fryar  Theobald  was  warden  than. 

And  this  fell  in  his  time; 
And  Christ  them  bless  both  farre  and  neare. 
All  that  for  solace  list  this  to  heare. 

And  him  that  made  the  rhime. 

•  In  the  combat.  '  Bone.  '  Meeting,  battle.  «  Hie,  hasten. 

'  The  MS.  reads,  mistakenly.  '  every  day.'  '  Price. 

'  The  father  of  Sir  Gawain,  in  the  romance  of  Arthur  and  Merlin.  The  MS.  is 
thus  corrupted,  — 

More  loth  of  Louth  Ryme. 
'  Well  known,  or  perhaps  kind,  well  disposed. 


NOTES 

Ralph  Rokeby  with  full  good  will, 

The  Fryers  of  Richmond  he  gave  her  till, 

This  sew  to  mend  their  fare; 
Fryar  Middleton  by  his  name. 
Would  needs  bring  the  fat  sew  hamet 

That  rued  him  since  full  sare. 


Note  57,  p.  151 

The  Filea,  or  Ollamh  Re  Dan,  was  the  proper  bard,  or,  as  the 
name  literally  implies,  poet.  Each  chieftain  of  distinction  had 
one  or  more  in  his  service,  whose  office  was  usually  hereditary. 
The  late  ingenious  Mr.  Cooper  Walker  has  assembled  a  curious 
collection  of  particulars  concerning  this  order  of  men,  in  his 
Historical  Memoirs  of  the  Irish  Bards.  There  were  itinerant 
bards  of  less  elevated  rank,  but  all  were  held  in  the  highest  ven- 
eration. The  English,  who  considered  them  as  chief  supporters 
of  the  spirit  of  national  independence,  were  much  disposed  to 
proscribe  this  race  of  poets,  as  Edward  I  is  said  to  have  done  in 
Wales.  Spenser,  while  he  admits  the  merit  of  their  wild  poetry, 
as  'savouring  of  sweet  wit  and  good  invention,  and  sprinkled 
with  some  pretty  flowers  of  their  natural  device,'  yet  rigorously 
condemns  the  whole  application  of  their  poetry,  as  abased  to 
'the  gracing  of  wickedness  and  vice.'  The  household  minstrel 
was  admitted  even  to  the  feast  of  the  prince  whom  he  served, 
and  sat  at  the  same  table.  It  was  one  of  the  customs  of  which 
Sir  Richard  Sewry,  to  whose  charge  Richard  II  committed  the 
instruction  of  four  Irish  monarchs  in  the  civilisation  of  the 
period,  found  it  most  difficult  to  break  his  royal  disciples,  though 
he  had  also  much  ado  to  subject  them  to  other  English  rules, 
and  particularly  to  reconcile  them  to  wear  breeches.  'The  kyng, 
my  souerevigne  lord's  entent  was,  that  in  maner,  countenaunce, 
and  apparell  of  clothyng,  they  sholde  use  according  to  the  man- 
ner of  Englande,  for  the  kynge  thought  to  make  them  all  four 
knyghtes:  they  had  a  fayre  house  to  lodge  in,  in  Duvelyn,  and  I 
was  charged  to  abyde  styll  with  them,  and  not  to  departe;  and 
so  two  or  three  dayes  I  suffered  them  to  do  as  they  lyst,  and 
sayde  nothyng  to  them,  but  followed  their  owne  appetytes: 

486 


« 


NOTES 

they  wolde  sitte  at  the  table,  and  make  countenance  nother 
good  nor  fayre.  Than  I  thought  I  shulde  cause  them  to  chaunge 
that  maner;  they  wolde  cause  their  mynstrells,  their  seruantes, 
and  varieties  to  sytte  with  them,  and  to  eate  in  their  owne 
dyssche,  and  to  drinke  of  their  cuppes;  and  they  shewed  me  that 
the  usage  of  their  cuntre  was  good,  for  they  sayd  in  all  thyngs 
(except  their  beddes)  they  were  and  lyved  as  comen.  So  the 
fourthe  day  I  ordayned  other  tables  to  be  couered  in  the  hall, 
after  the  usage  of  Englande,  and  I  made  these  four  knyghtes  to 
sytte  at  the  hyghe  table,  and  their  mynstrels  at  another  borde, 
and  their  seruauntes  and  varieties  at  another  byneth  them, 
whereof  by  semynge  they  were  displeased,  and  beheld  each 
other,  and  wolde  not  eate,  and  sayde,  how  I  wolde  take  fro 
them  their  good  usage,  wherin  they  had  been  norished.  Then  I 
answered  them,  smylyng,  to  apeace  them,  that  it  was  not  hon- 
ourable for  their  estates  to  do  as  they  dyde  before,  and  that  they 
must  leave  it,  and  use  the  custom  of  Englande,  and  that  it  was 
the  kynge's  pleasure  they  shulde  so  do,  and  how  he  was  charged 
so  to  order  them.  When  they  harde  that,  they  suffred  it,  bycause 
they  had  putte  themselfe  under  the  obeysance  of  the  Kynge  of 
England,  and  parceuered  in  the  same  as  long  as  I  was  with  them ; 
yet  they  had  one  use  which  I  knew  was  well  used  in  their  cuntre, 
and  that  was,  they  dyde  were  no  breches;  I  caused  breches  of 
lynen  clothe  to  be  made  for  them.  Whyle  I  was  with  them  I 
caused  them  to  leaue  many  rude  thynges,  as  well  in  clothyng  as 
in  other  causes.  Moche  ado  I  had  at  the  fyrst  to  cause  them  to 
weare  gownes  of  sylke,  furred  with  myneuere  and  gray;  for 
before  these  kynges  thought  themselfe  well  apparelled  whan 
they  had  on  a  mantell.  They  rode  alwayes  without  saddles  and 
styropes,  and  with  great  payne  I  made  them  to  ride  after  our 
usage.'   (Lord  Berners'  Froissart,  London,  1812,  4to,  11,  621.) 

The  influence  of  these  bards  upon  their  patrons,  and  their 
admitted  title  to  interfere  in  matters  of  the  weightiest  concern, 
may  be  also  proved  from  the  behaviour  of  one  of  them  at  an 
interview  between  Thomas  Fitzgerald,  son  of  the  Earl  of  Kildare, 
then  about  to  renounce  the  English  allegiance,  and  the  Lord 

487 


NOTES 

Chancellor  Cromer,  who  made  a  long  and  goodly  oration  to  dis- 
suade him  from  his  purpose.  The  young  lord  had  come  to  the 
council  'armed  and  weaponed,'  and  attended  by  seven  score 
horsemen  in  their  shirts  of  mail;  and  we  are  assured  that  the 
chancellor,  having  set  forth  his  oration  'with  such  a  lamentable 
action  as  his  cheekes  were  all  beblubbered  with  teares,  the 
horsemen,  namelie,  such  as  understood  not  English,  began  to 
diuine  what  the  lord-chancellor  meant  with  all  this  long  circum- 
stance; some  of  them  reporting  that  he  was  preaching  a  sermon, 
others  said  that  he  stood  making  of  some  heroicall  poetry  in  the 
praise  of  the  Lord  Thomas.  And  thus  as  every  idiot  shot  his 
foolish  bolt  at  the  wise  chancellor  his  discourse,  who  in  effect 
had  nought  else  but  drop  pretious  stones  before  hogs,  one  Bard 
de  Nelan,  an  Irish  rithmour,  and  a  rotten  sheepe  to  infect  a 
whole  flocke,  was  chatting  of  Irish  verses,  as  though  his  toong 
had  run  on  pattens,  in  commendation  of  the  Lord  Thomas, 
investing  him  with  the  title  of  Silken  Thomas,  bicause  his  horse- 
mens  jacks  were  gorgeously  imbroidered  with  silke;  and  in  the 
end  he  told  him  that  he  lingered  there  ouer  long;  whereat  the 
Lord  Thomas  being  quickened,'  ^  as  Holinshed  expresses  it,  bid 
defiance  to  the  chancellor,  threw  down  contemptuously  the 
sword  of  office,  which,  in  his  father's  absence,  he  held  as  deputy, 
and  rushed  forth  to  engage  in  open  insurrection. 

Note  58,  p.  151  •; 

Clandeboy  is  a  district  of  Ulster,  formerly  possessed  by  the 
sept  of  the  O'Neales,  and  Slieve-Donard  a  romantic  mountain  in 
the  same  province.  The  clan  was  ruined  after  Tyrone's  great 
rebellion,  and  their  places  of  abode  laid  desolate.  The  ancient 
Irish,  wild  and  uncultivated  in  other  respects,  did  not  yield  even 
to  their  descendants  in  practising  the  most  free  and  extended 
hospitality;  and  doubtless  the  bards  mourned  the  decay  of  the 
mansion  of  their  chiefs  in  strains  similar  to  the  verses  of  the 
British  Llywarch  Hen  on  a  similar  occasion,  which  are  affect- 

I  Holinshed,  London,  1808,  4to,  vi,  291. 
488 


NOTES 

ing,  even  through  the  discouraging  medium  of  a  literal  trans- 
lation :  — 

Silent-breathing  gale,  long  wilt  thou  be  heard' 
There  is  scarcely  another  deserving  praise, 
Since  Urien  is  no  more. 

Many  a  dog  that  scented  well  the  prey,  and  aerial  hawk. 
Have  been  trained  on  this  floor 
Before  Erlleon  became  polluted  .  .  . 

This  hearth,  ah,  will  it  not  be  covered  with  nettlesl 

Whilst  its  defender  lived. 

More  congenial  to  it  was  the  foot  of  the  needy  petitioner. 

This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  covered  with  green  sod  I 

In  the  lifetime  of  Owain  and  Elphin, 

Its  ample  caldron  boiled  the  prey  taken  from  the  foe.  . 

This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  covered  with  toad-stoolsl 
Around  the  viand  it  prepared,  more  cheering  was 
The  clattering  sword  of  the  fierce  dauntless  warrior. 

This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  overgrown  with  spreading  bramblesl 
Till  now,  logs  of  burning  wood  lay  on  it. 
Accustomed  to  prepare  the  gifts  of  Reged  I 

This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  covered  with  thorns! 

More  congenial  on  it  would  have  been  the  mixed  group 

Of  Owain's  social  friends  united  in  harmony. 

This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  covered  over  with  ants! 
More  adapted  to  it  would  have  been  the  bright  torches 
And  harmless  festivities  I 

This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  covered  with  dock-leaves! 

More  congenial  on  its  floor  would  have  been 

The  mead,  and  the  talking  of  wine-cheered  warriors. 

This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  turned  up  by  the  swinel 

More  congenial  to  it  would  have  been  the  clamour  of  men, 

And  the  circling  horns  of  the  banquet.' 

Heroic  Elegies  of  Llywarc  Hen,  by  Owen,  London,  1792, 8vo,  p.  41 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  gloomy  this  night. 

Without  fire,  without  bed  — 

I  must  weep  a  while,  and  then  be  silent! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  gloomy  this  night, 

Without  fire,  without  candle  — 

Except  God  doth,  who  will  endue  me  with  patience! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  gloomy  this  night. 
Without  fire,  without  being  lighted  — 
Be  thou  encircled  with  spreading  silence! 


489 


NOTES 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan,  gloomy  seems  its  roof 
Since  the  sweet  smile  of  humanity  is  no  more  — 
Woe  to  him  that  saw  it,  if  he  neglects  to  do  goodl 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan,  art  thou  not  bereft  of  thy  appearance 

Thy  shield  is  in  the  grave; 

Whilst  he  lived  there  was  no  broken  roof! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  without  love  this  night, 

Since  he  that  owned  it  is  no  more  — 

Ah,  death:  it  will  be  but  a  short  time  he  will  leave  met 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  not  easy  this  night. 

On  the  top  of  the  rock  of  Hydwith, 

Without  its  lord,  without  company,  without  the  circling  feasts! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  gloomy  this  night,    , 
Without  fire,  without  songs  — 
Tears  aiflict  the  cheeks! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  gloomy  this  nigbti 
Without  fire,  without  family  — 
My  overflowing  tears  gush  out! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  pierces  me  to  see  it. 
Without  a  covering,  without  fire  — 
My  general  dead,  and  I  alive  myself! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  the  seat  of  chill  grief  this  night, 

After  the  respect  I  experienced; 

Without  the  men,  without  the  women,  who  reside  there! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  silent  this  night. 

After  losing  its  master  — 

The  great  merciful  God,  what  shall  I  do! 

Heroic  Elegies  of  Llywarc  Hen,  by  Owen,  London,  1792,  8vo,  p.  77. 


Note  59,  p.  154 

Marwood  Chase  is  the  old  park  extending  along  the  Durham 
side  of  the  Tees,  attached  to  Barnard  Castle.  Toller  Hill  is  an 
eminence  on  the  Yorkshire  side  of  the  river,  commanding  a 
superb  view  of  the  ruins. 

Note  60,  p.  157 

Drummond  of  Hawthornden  was  in  the  zenith  of  his  reputa- 
tion as  a  poet  during  the  Civil  Wars.   He  died  in  1649. 

490 


NOTES 

Note  6i,  p.  157 

'MacCurtin,  hereditary  Ollamh  of  North  Munster,  and  Filea 
to  Donough,  Earle  of  Thomond,  and  President  of  Munster.  This 
nobleman  was  amongst  those  who  were  prevailed  upon  to  join 
Elizabeth's  forces.  Soon  as  it  was  known  that  he  had  basely 
abandoned  the  interests  of  his  country,  MacCurtin  presented 
an  adulatory  poem  to  MacCarthy,  chief  of  South  Munster,  and 
of  the  Eugenian  line,  who,  with  O'Neil,  O'Donnel,  Lacy,  and 
others,  were  deeply  engaged  in  protecting  their  violated  coun- 
try. In  this  poem  he  dwells  with  rapture  on  the  courage  and 
patriotism  of  MacCarthy,  but  the  verse  that  should  (according 
to  an  established  law  of  the  order  of  the  bards)  be  introduced  in 
the  praise  of  O'Brien,  he  turns  into  severe  satire;  "How  am  I 
afflicted  (says  he)  that  the  descendant  of  the  great  Brion  Boiromh 
cannot  furnish  me  with  a  theme  worthy  the  honour  and  glory 
of  his  exalted  race!"  Lord  Thomond,  hearing  this,  vowed 
vengeance  on  the  spirited  bard,  who  fled  for  refuge  to  the  county 
of  Cork.  One  day,  observing  the  exasperated  nobleman  and  his 
equipage  at  a  small  distance,  he  thought  it  was  in  vain  to  fly, 
and  pretended  to  be  suddenly  seized  with  the  pangs  of  death; 
directing  his  wife  to  lament  over  him,  and  tell  his  lordship,  that 
the  sight  of  him,  by  awakening  the  sense  of  his  ingratitude,  had 
so  much  affected  him  that  he  could  not  support  it;  and  desired 
her  at  the  same  time  to  tell  his  lordship,  that  he  entreated,  as  a 
dying  request,  his  forgiveness.  Soon  as  Lord  Thomond  arrived, 
the  feigned  tale  was  related  to  him.  That  nobleman  was  moved 
to  compassion,  and  not  only  declared  that  he  most  heartily  for- 
gave him,  but,  opening  his  purse,  presented  the  fair  mourner 
with  some  pieces  to  inter  him.  This  instance  of  his  lordship's 
pity  and  generosity  gave  courage  to  the  trembling  bard ;  who, 
suddenly  springing  up,  recited  an  extemporaneous  ode  in  praise 
of  Donough,  and,  reentering  into  his  service,  became  once  more 
his  favourite.'  —  (Walker's  Memoirs  of  the  Irish  Bards,  London, 
1786,  4to,  p.  141.) 


491 


i 


NOTES 

Note  62,  p.  158 

Among  the  entertainments  presented  to  Elizabeth  at  Kenil- 
worth  Castle,  was  the  introduction  of  a  person  designed  to  repre- 
sent a  travelling  minstrel,  who  entertained  her  with  a  solemn 
story  out  of  the  Acts  of  King  Arthur.  Of  this  person's  dress  and 
appearance  Mr.  Laneham  has  given  us  a  very  accurate  account, 
transferred  by  Bishop  Percy  to  the  preliminary  Dissertation  on 
Minstrels,  prefixed  to  his  Reliques  of  Ancient  Poetry,  vol.  I. 

Note  63,  p.  171 

The  tradition  from  which  the  ballad  is  founded  was  supplied 
by  a  friend  (the  late  Lord  Webb  Seymour),  whose  account  I  will 
not  do  the  injustice  to  abridge,  as  it  contains  an  admirable  pic- 
ture of  an  old  English  hall:  — 

'Littlecote  House  stands  in  a  low  and  lonely  situation.  On 
three  sides  it  is  surrounded  by  a  park  that  spreads  over  the 
adjoining  hill ;  on  the  fourth,  by  meadows  which  are  watered  by  J 

the  river  Kennet.  Close  on  one  side  of  the  house  is  a  thick  grove 
of  lofty  trees,  along  the  verge  of  which  runs  one  of  the  principal 
avenues  to  it  through  the  park.  It  is  an  irregular  building  of 
great  antiquity,  and  was  probably  erected  about  the  time  of  the 
termination  of  feudal  warfare,  when  defence  came  no  longer  to 
be  an  object  in  a  country  mansion.  Many  circumstances,  how- 
ever, in  the  interior  of  the  house,  seem  appropriate  to  feudal 
times.  The  hall  is  very  spacious,  floored  with  stones,  and  lighted 
by  large  transom  windows,  that  are  clothed  with  casements.  Its 
walls  are  hung  with  old  military  accoutrements,  that  have  long 
been  left  a  prey  to  rust.  At  one  end  of  the  hall  is  a  range  of  coats 
of  mail  and  helmets,  and  there  is  on  every  side  abundance  of 
old-fashioned  pistols  and  guns,  many  of  them  with  matchlocks. 
Immediately  below  the  cornice  hangs  a  row  of  leathern  jerkins, 
made  in  the  form  of  a  shirt,  supposed  to  have  been  worn  as 
armour  by  the  vassals.  A  large  oak  table,  reaching  nearly  from 
one  end  of  the  room  to  the  other,  might  have  feasted  the  whole 

492 


NOTES 

neighbourhood,  and  an  appendage  to  one  end  of  it  made  it 
answer  at  other  times  for  the  old  game  of  shufifleboard.  The 
rest  of  the  furniture  is  in  a  suitable  style,  particularly  an  arm- 
chair of  cumbrous  workmanship,  constructed  of  wood,  curiously 
turned,  with  a  high  back  and  triangular  seat,  said  to  have  been 
used  by  Judge  Popham  in  the  reign  of  Elizabeth.  The  entrance 
into  the  hall  is  at  one  end,  by  a  low  door,  communicating  with  a 
passage  that  leads  from  the  outer  door  in  the  front  of  the  house 
to  a  quadrangle  ^  within;  at  the  other,  it  opens  upon  a  gloomy 
staircase,  by  which  you  ascend  to  the  first  floor,  and,  passing  the 
doors  of  some  bedchambers,  enter  a  narrow  gallery,  which 
extends  along  the  back  front  of  the  house  from  one  end  to  the 
other  of  it,  and  looks  upon  an  old  garden.  This  gallery  is  hung 
with  portraits,  chiefly  in  the  Spanish  dresses  of  the  sixteenth 
century.  In  one  of  the  bedchambers,  which  you  pass  in  going 
towards  the  gallery,  is  a  bedstead  with  blue  furniture,  which 
time  has  now  made  dingy  and  threadbare,  and  in  the  bottom 
of  one  of  the  bed  curtains  you  are  shown  a  place  where  a  small 
piece  has  been  cut  out  and  sewn  in  again,  —  a  circumstance 
which  serves  to  identify  the  scene  of  the  following  story:  — 

'  It  was  on  a  dark  rainj'  night  in  the  month  of  November,  that 
an  old  midwife  sat  musing  by  her  cottage  fire-side,  when  on  a 
sudden  she  was  startled  by  a  loud  knocking  at  the  door.  On 
opening  it  she  found  a  horseman,  who  told  her  that  her  assist- 
ance was  required  immediately  by  a  person  of  rank,  and  that  she 
should  be  handsomely  rewarded;  but  that  there  were  reasons  for 
keeping  the  affair  a  strict  secret,  and,  therefore,  she  must  sub- 
mit to  be  blindfolded,  and  to  be  conducted  in  that  condition  to 
the  bedchamber  of  the  lady.  With  some  hesitation  the  midwife 
consented ;  the  horseman  bound  her  eyes,  and  placed  her  on  a 
pillion  behind  him.  After  proceeding  in  silence  for  many  miles 
through  rough  and  dirty  lanes,  they  stopped,  and  the  midwife 
was  led  into  a  house,  which,  from  the  length  of  her  walk  through 
the  apartments,  as  well  as  the  sounds  about  her,  she  discovered 
to  be  the  seat  of  wealth  and  power.   When  the  bandage  was 

»  I  think  there  is  a  chapel  on  one  side  of  it,  but  am  not  quite  sure. 

493 


NOTES 

removed  from  her  eyes,  she  found  herself  in  a  bed-chamber,  in 
which  were  the  lady  on  whose  account  she  had  been  sent  for, 
and  a  man  of  a  haughty  and  ferocious  aspect.  The  lady  was 
delivered  of  a  fine  boy.  Immediately  the  man  commanded  the 
midwife  to  give  him  the  child,  and  catching  it  from  her,  he 
hurried  across  the  room,  and  threw  it  on  the  back  of  the  fire, 
that  was  blazing  in  the  chimney.  The  child,  however,  was 
strong,  and  by  its  struggles  rolled  itself  upon  the  hearth,  when 
the  ruffian  again  seized  it  with  fury,  and  in  spite  of  the  interces- 
sion of  the  midwife,  and  the  more  piteous  entreaties  of  the 
mother,  thrust  it  under  the  grate,  and  raking  the  live  coals  upon 
it,  soon  put  an  end  to  its  life.  The  midwife,  after  spending  some 
time  in  affording  all  the  relief  in  her  power  to  the  wretched 
mother,  was  told  that  she  must  be  gone.  Her  former  conductor 
appeared,  who  again  bound  her  eyes,  and  conveyed  her  behind 
him  to  her  own  home;  he  then  paid  her  handsomely,  and 
departed.  The  midwife  was  strongly  agitated  by  the  horrors  of 
the  preceding  night;  and  she  immediately  made  a  deposition 
of  the  facts  before  a  magistrate.  Two  circumstances  afforded 
hopes  of  detecting  the  house  in  which  the  crime  had  been  com- 
mitted; one  was,  that  the  midwife,  as  she  sat  by  the  bedside, 
had,  with  a  view  to  discover  the  place,  cut  out  a  piece  of  the 
bed  curtain,  and  sewn  it  in  again;  the  other  was,  that  as  she  had 
descended  the  staircase  she  had  counted  the  steps.  Some  suspi- 
cions fell  upon  one  Darrell,  at  that  time  the  proprietor  of  Little- 
cote  House,  and  the  domain  around  it.  The  house  wasexamined, 
and  identified  by  the  midwife,  and  Darrell  was  tried  at  Salisbury 
for  the  murder.  By  corrupting  his  judge,  he  escaped  the  sen- 
tence of  the  law;  but  broke  his  neck  by  a  fall  from  his  horse  in 
hunting,  in  a  few  months  after.  The  place  where  this  happened 
is  still  known  by  the  name  of  Darrell's  Style,  —  a  spot  to  be 
dreaded  by  the  peasant  whom  the  shades  of  evening  have  over- 
taken on  his  way. 

'Littlecote  House  is  two  miles  from  Hungerford,  in  Berkshire, 
through  which  the  Bath  road  passes.  The  fact  occurred  in  the 
reign  of  Elizabeth.    All  the  important  circumstances  I  have 

494 


1 
I 


I 


k|i 


NOTES 

given  exactly  as  they  are  told  in  the  country;  some  trifles  only 
are  added,  either  to  render  the  whole  connected,  or  to  increase 
the  impression.' 

To  Lord  Webb's  edition  of  this  singular  story  the  author  can 
now  add  the  following  account,  extracted  from  Aubrey's  Corre- 
spondence. It  occurs  among  other  particulars  respecting  Sir 
John  Popham:  — 

'  Sir Dayrell,  of  Littlecote,  in  Corn.  Wilts,  having  gott 

his  lady's  waiting-woman  with  child,  when  her  travell  came, 
sent  a  servant  with  a  horse  for  a  midwife,  whom  he  was  to  bring 
hoodwinked.  She  was  brought,  and  layd  the  woman,  but  as 
soon  as  the  child  was  born,  she  sawe  the  knight  take  the  child 
and  murther  it,  and  burn  it  in  the  fire  in  the  chamber.  She  having 
done  her  businesse,  was  extraordinarily  rewarded  for  her  paines, 
and  sent  blindfolded  away.  This  horrid  action  did  much  run  in 
her  mind,  and  she  had  a  desire  to  discover  it,  but  knew  not  where 
't  was.  She  considered  with  herself  the  time  that  she  was  riding, 
and  how  many  miles  she  might  have  rode  at  that  rate  in  that 
time,  and  that  it  must  be  some  great  person's  house,  for  the 
roome  was  12  foot  high ;  and  she  should  know  the  chamber  if  she 
sawe  it.  She  went  to  a  Justice  of  Peace,  and  search  was  made. 
The  very  chamber  found.  The  Knight  was  brought  to  his  tryall ; 
and  to  be  short,  this  judge  had  this  noble  house,  parke  and 
manner,  and  (I  thinke)  more,  for  a  bribe  to  save  his  life. 

'Sir  John  Popham. gave  sentence  according  to  lawe,  but  being 
a  great  person,  and  a  favourite,  he  procured  a  noli  prosequi.' 

With  this  tale  of  terror  the  author  has  combined  some  circum- 
stances of  a  similar  legend,  which  was  current  at  Edinburgh 
during  his  childhood. 

About  the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century,  when  the 
large  castles  of  the  Scottish  nobles,  and  even  the  secluded  hotels, 
like  those  of  the  French  noblesse,  which  they  possessed  in  Edin- 
burgh, were  sometimes  the  scenes  of  strange  and  mysterious 
transactions,  a  divine  of  singular  sanctity  was  called  up  at  mid- 
night to  pray  with  a  person  at  the  point  of  death.  This  was  no 
unusual  summons;  but  what  followed  was  alarming:  He  was  put 

495 


NOTES 

into  a  sedan-chair,  and  after  he  had  been  transported  to  a  remote 
part  of  the  town,  the  bearers  insisted  upon  his  being  blindfolded. 
The  request  was  enforced  by  a  cocked  pistol,  and  submitted  to; 
but  in  the  course  of  the  discussion,  he  conjectured,  from  the 
phrases  employed  by  the  chairmen,  and  from  some  part  of  their 
dress,  not  completely  concealed  by  their  cloaks,  that  they  were 
greatly  above  the  menial  station  they  had  assumed.  After  many 
turns  and  windings,  the  chair  was  carried  up  stairs  into  a  lodg- 
ing, where  his  eyes  were  uncovered,  and  he  was  introduced  into 
a  bedroom,  where  he  found  a  lady,  newly  delivered  of  an  infant. 
He  was  commanded  by  his  attendants  to  say  such  prayers  by 
her  bedside  as  were  fitting  for  a  person  not  expected  to  survive  a 
mortal  disorder.  He  ventured  to  remonstrate,  and  observe,  that 
her  safe  delivery  warranted  better  hopes.  But  he  was  sternly 
commanded  to  obey  the  orders  first  given,  and  with  difficulty 
recollected  himself  sufficiently  to  acquit  himself  of  the  task 
imposed  on  him.  He  was  then  again  hurried  into  the  chair;  but 
as  they  conducted  him  down  stairs,  he  heard  the  report  of  a 
pistol.  He  was  safely  conducted  home;  a  purse  of  gold  was 
forced  upon  him ;  but  he  was  warned,  at  the  same  time,  that  the 
least  allusion  to  this  dark  transaction  would  cost  him  his  life. 
He  betook  himself  to  rest,  and,  after  long  and  broken  musing,  fell 
into  a  deep  sleep.  From  this  he  was  awakened  by  his  servant, 
with  the  dismal  news  that  a  fire  of  uncommon  fury  had  broken 

out  in  the  house  of ,  near  the  head  of  the  Canongate,  and 

that  it  was  totally  consumed;  with  the  shocking  addition,  that 
the  daughter  of  the  proprietor,  a  young  lady  eminent  for  beauty 
and  accomplishments,  had  perished  in  the  flames.  The  clergy- 
man had  his  suspicions,  but  to  have  made  them  public  would 
have  availed  nothing.  He  was  timid;  the  family  was  of  the  first 
distinction;  above  all,  the  deed  was  done,  and  could  not  be 
amended.  Time  wore  away,  however,  and  with  it  his  terrors. 
He  became  unhappy  at  being  the  solitary  depositary  of  this 
fearful  mystery,  and  mentioned  it  to  some  of  his  brethren, 
through  whom  the  anecdote  acquired  a  sort  of  publicity.  The 
divine,  however,  had  been  long  dead,  and  the  story  in  some 

496 


NOTES 

degree  forgotten,  when  a  fire  broke  out  again  on  the  very  same 

spot  where  the  house  of had  formerly  stood,  and  which 

was  now  occupied  by  buildings  of  an  inferior  description.  When 
the  flames  were  at  their  height,  the  tumult,  which  usually 
attends  such  a  scene,  was  suddenly  suspended  by  an  unexpected 
apparition.  A  beautiful  female,  in  a  night  dress,  extremely  rich, 
but  at  least  half  a  century  old,  appeared  in  the  very  midst  of  the 
fire,  and  uttered  these  tremendous  words  in  her  vernacular 
idiom:  ' Anes  burned,  twice  burned;  the  third  time  I  '11  scare  you 
all!'  The  belief  in  this  story  was  formerly  so  strong,  that  on  a 
fire  breaking  out,  and  seeming  to  approach  the  fatal  spot,  there 
was  a  good  deal  of  anxiety  testified,  lest  the  apparition  should 
make  good  her  denunciation. 

Note  64,  p.  177 

Such  an  exhortation  was,  in  similar  circumstances,  actually 
given  to  his  followers  by  a  Welsh  chieftain:  — 

'Enmity  did  continue  betweene  Howell  ap  Rys  ap  Howell 
Vaughan  and  the  sonnes  of  John  ap  Meredith.  After  the  death 
of  Even  ap  Rebert,  Griffith  ap  Gronw  (cosen  german  to  John  ap 
Meredith's  sonnes  of  Gwynfryn,  who  had  long  served  in  France, 
and  had  charge  there)  comeing  home  to  live  in  the  countrey, 
it  happened  that  a  servant  of  his,  comeing  to  fish  in  Stymllyn, 
his  fish  was  taken  away,  and  the  fellow  beaten  by  Howell  ap 
Rys  his  servants,  and  by  his  commandment.  Griffith  ap  John 
ap  Gronw  took  the  matter  in  such  dudgeon  that  he  challenged 
Howell  ap  Rys  to  the  field,  which  he  refusing,  assembling  his 
cosins  John  ap  Meredith's  sonnes  and  his  friends  together, 
assaulted  Howell  in  his  own  house,  after  the  maner  he  had  scene 
in  the  French  warres,  and  consumed  with  fire  his  barnes  and  his 
out-houses.  Whilst  he  was  thus  assaulting  the  hall,  which 
Howel  ap  Rys  and  many  other  people  kept,  being  a  very  strong 
house,  he  was  shot,  out  of  a  crevice  of  the  house,  through  the 
sight  of  his  beaver  into  the  head,  and  slayne  outright,  being 
otherwise  armed  at  all  points.   Notwithstanding  his  death,  the 

49  497 


NOTES 


} 


I 


assault  of  the  house  was  continued  with  great  vehemence,  the 
doores  fired  with  great  burthens  of  straw;  besides  this,  the 
smoake  of  the  out-houses  and  barnes  not  farre  distant  annoyed 
greatly  the  defendants,  for  that  most  of  them  lay  under  boordes 
and  benches  upon  the  fioore,  in  the  hall,  the  better  to  avoyd  the 
smoake.  During  this  scene  of  confusion  onely  the  old  man, 
Howell  ap  Rys,  never  stooped,  but  stood  valiantly  in  the  mid- 
dest  of  the  fioore,  armed  with  a  gleve  in  his  hand,  and  called 
unto  them,  and  bid  "them  arise  like  men,  for  shame,  for  he  had 
knowne  there  as  great  a  smoake  in  that  hall  upon  Christmas- 
even."  In  the  end,  seeing  the  house  could  noe  longer  defend 
them,  being  overlayed  with  a  multitude,  upon  parley  betweene 
them,  Howell  ap  Rys  was  content  to  yeald  himself  prisoner  to 
Morris  ap  John  ap  Meredith,  John  ap  Meredith's  eldest  sonne, 
soe  as  he  would  swear  unto  him  to  bring  him  safe  to  Carnarvon 
Castle,  to  abide  the  triall  of  the  law  for  the  death  of  Graff'  ap 
John  ap  Gronw,  who  was  cosen-german  removed  to  the  said 
Howell  ap  Rys,  and  of  the  very  same  house  he  was  of.  Which 
Morris  ap  John  ap  Meredith  undertaking,  did  put  a  guard  about 
the  said  Howell  of  his  trustiest  friends  and  servants,  who  kept 
and  defended  him  from  the  rage  of  his  kindred,  and  especially 
of  Owen  ap  John  ap  Meredith,  his  brother,  who  was  very  eager 
against  him.  They  passed  by  leisure  thence  like  a  campe  to 
Carnarvon:    the  whole  countrie  being  assembled,  Howell  his  , 

friends  posted  a  horseback  from  one  place  or  other  by  the  way,  J  Hj 
who  brought  word  that  he  was  come  thither  safe,  for  they  were 
in  great  fear  lest  he  should  be  murthered,  and  that  Morris  ap 
John  ap  Meredith  could  not  be  able  to  defend  him,  neither 
durst  any  of  Howell's  friends  be  there,  for  fear  of  the  kindred. 
In  the  end,  being  delivered  by  Morris  ap  John  ap  Meredith  to 
the  constable  of  Carnarvon  Castle,  and  there  kept  safely  in 
ward  untill  the  assises,  it  fell  out  by  law,  that  the  burning  of 
Howell's  houses,  and  assaulting  him  in  his  owne  house,  was  a 
more  haynous  offence  in  Morris  ap  John  ap  Meredith  and  the' 
rest,  than  the  death  of  Graff'  ap  John  ap  Gronw  in  Howell,  who 
did  it  in  his  own  defence;  whereupon  Morris  ap  John  ap  Mere- 

498 


4 


NOTES 

dith,  with  thirty-five  more,  were  indicted  of  felony,  as  appeareth 
by  the  copie  of  the  indictment,  which  I  had  from  the  records.'  — 
(Sir  John  Wynne's  History  of  the  Gwydir  Family,  London,  1770, 
8vo,  p.  116.) 

Note  65,  p.  205 

This  custom  among  the  Redesdale  and  Tynedale  Borderers 
is  mentioned  in  the  interesting  Life  of  Barnard  Gilpin,  where 
some  account  is  given  of  these  wild  districts,  which  it  was  the 
custom  of  that  excellent  man  regularly  to  visit. 

'This  custom  (of  duels)  still  prevailed  on  the  Borders,  where 
Saxon  barbarism  held  its  latest  possession.  These  wild  North- 
umbrians, indeed,  w'ent  beyond  the  ferocity  of  their  ancestors. 
They  were  not  content  with  a  duel:  each  contending  party  used 
to  muster  what  adherents  he  could,  and  commence  a  kind  of 
petty  war.  So  that  a  private  grudge  would  often  occasion 
much  bloodshed. 

'  It  happened  that  a  quarrel  of  this  kind  was  on  foot  when  Mr. 
Gilpin  was  at  Rothbury,  in  those  parts.  During  the  two  or  three 
first  days  of  his  preaching,  the  contending  parties  observed  some 
decorum,  and  never  appeared  at  church  together.  At  length, 
however,  they  met.  One  party  had  been  early  at  church,  and 
just  as  Mr.  Gilpin  began  his  sermon  the  other  entered.  They 
stood  not  long  silent.  Inflamed  at  the  sight  of  each  other,  they 
began  to  clash  their  weapons,  for  they  were  all  armed  with  jave- 
lins and  swords,  and  mutually  approached.  Awed,  however,  by 
the  sacredness  of  the  place,  the  tumult  in  some  degree  ceased. 
Mr.  Gilpin  proceeded:  when  again  the  combatants  began  to 
brandish  their  weapons,  and  draw  towards  each  other.  As  a  fray 
seemed  near,  Mr.  Gilpin  stepped  from  the  pulpit,  went  between 
them,  and  addressed  the  leaders,  put  an  end  to  the  quarrel  for 
the  present,  but  could  not  effect  an  entire  reconciliation.  They 
promised  him,  however,  that  till  the  sermon  was  over  they  would 
make  no  more  disturbance.  He  then  went  again  into  the  pulpit, 
and  spent  the  rest  of  the  time  in  endeavouring  to  make  them 
ashamed  of  what  they  had  done.  His  behaviour  and  discourse 

499 


NOTES 

affected  them  so  much,  that,  at  his  farther  entreaty,  they  pro- 
mised to  forbear  all  acts  of  hostility  while  he  continued  in  the 
country.  And  so  much  respected  was  he  among  them,  that 
whoever  was  in  fear  of  his  enemy  used  to  resort  where  IVIr.  Gilpin 
was,  esteeming  his  presence  the  best  protection. 

'One  Sunday  morning,  coming  to  a  church  in  those  parts, 
before  the  people  were  assembled,  he  observed  a  glove  hanging 
up,  and  was  informed  by  the  sexton,  that  it  was  meant  as  a  chal- 
lenge to  any  one  who  should  take  it  down.  Mr.  Gilpin  ordered 
the  sexton  to  reach  it  him;  but  upon  his  utterly  refusing  to  touch 
it,  he  took  it  down  himself,  and  put  it  into  his  breast.  When 
the  people  were  assembled,  he  went  into  the  pulpit,  and,  before 
he  concluded  his  sermon,  took  occasion  to  rebuke  them  severely 
for  these  inhuman  challenges.  "I  hear,"  saith  he,  "that  one 
among  you  hath  hanged  up  a  glove,  even  in  this  sacred  place, 
threatening  to  fight  any  one  who  taketh  it  down:  see,  I  have 
taken  it  down;"  and,  pulling  out  the  glove,  he  held  it  up  to  the 
congregation,  and  then  showed  them  how  unsuitable  such  sav- 
age practices  were  to  the  profession  of  Christianity,  using  such 
persuasives  to  mutual  love  as  he  thought  would  most  affect 
them.'   {Life  oj  Barnard  Gilpin,  London,  1753,  8vo,  p.  177.) 

Note  66,  p.  218 

This,  and  what  follows,  is  taken  from  a  real  achievement  of 
Major  Robert  Philipson,  called,  from  his  desperate  and  adven- 
turous courage,  Robin  the  Devil;  which,  as  being  very  inaccu- 
rately noticed  in  this  note  upon  the  first  edition,  shall  be  now 
given  in  a  more  authentic  form.  The  chief  place  of  his  retreat 
was  not  Lord's  Island,  in  Derwentwater,  but  Curwen's  Island, 
in  the  Lake  of  Windermere. 

'This  island  formerly  belonged  to  the  Philipsons,  a  family  of 
note  in  Westmoreland.  During  the  Civil  Wars,  two  of  them,  an 
elder  and  a  younger  brother,  served  the  King.  The  former,  who 
was  the  proprietor  of  it,  commanded  a  regiment;  the  latter  was 
a  major. 

500 


NOTES 

'The  major,  whose  name  was  Robert,  was  a  man  of  great 
spirit  and  enterprise ;  and  for  his  many  feats  of  personal  bravery 
had  obtained,  among  the  Oliverians  of  those  parts,  the  appella- 
tion of  Robin  the  Devil. 

'After  the  war  had  subsided,  and  the  direful  effects  of  public 
opposition  had  ceased,  revenge  and  malice  long  kept  alive  the 
animosity  of  individuals.  Colonel  Briggs,  a  steady  friend  to 
usurpation,  resided  at  this  time  at  Kendal,  and,  under  the  double 
character  of  a  leading  magistrate  (for  he  was  a  Justice-of- Peace) 
and  an  active  commander,  held  the  country  in  awe.  This  person 
having  heard  that  Major  Philipson  was  at  his  brother's  house  on 
the  island  in  Windermere,  resolved,  if  possible,  to  seize  and  pun- 
ish a  man  who  had  made  himself  so  particularly  obnoxious.  How 
it  was  conducted,  my  authority  ^  does  not  inform  us  —  whether 
he  got  together  the  navigation  of  the  lake,  and  blockaded  the 
place  by  sea,  or  whether  he  landed  and  carried  on  his  approaches 
in  form.  Neither  do  we  learn  the  strength  of  the  garrison  within, 
nor  of  the  works  without.  All  we  learn  is,  that  Major  Philipson 
endured  a  siege  of  eight  months  with  great  gallantry,  till  his 
brother,  the  Colonel,  raised  a  party  and  relieved  him. 

*  It  was  now  the  Major's  turn  to  make  reprisals.  He  put  him- 
self, therefore,  at  the  head  of  a  little  troop  of  horse,  and  rode  to 
Kendal.  Here,  being  informed  that  Colonel  Briggs  was  at 
prayers  (for  it  was  on  a  Sunday  morning),  he  stationed  his  men 
properly  in  the  avenues,  and  himself  armed,  rode  directly  into 
the  church.  It  probably  was  not  a  regular  church,  but  some  large 
place  of  meeting.  It  is  said  he  intended  to  seize  the  Colonel  and 
carry  him  off;  but  as  this  seems  to  have  been  totally  impracti- 
cable, it  is  rather  probable  that  his  intention  was  to  kill  him  on 
the  spot,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  confusion  to  escape.  Whatever 
his  intention  was,  it  was  frustrated,  for  Briggs  happened  to  be 
elsewhere. 

'The  congregation,  as  might  be  expected,  was  thrown  into 
great  confusion  on  seeing  an  armed  man  on  horseback  make  hi- 
appearance  among  them;  and  the  Major,  taking  advantage  ol 

'   Dr.  Burn's  History  of  Westmoreland. 

m^h  '"'"'''^"  STfJE  COllIil  LIBRA 


NOTES 


Note  67,  p.  233 

The  ruins  of  the  Castle  of  Artornish  are  situated  upon  a 
promontory,  on  the  Morven,  or  mainland  side  of  the  Sound  of 
Mull,  a  name  given  to  the  deep  arm  of  the  sea,  which  divides 
that  island  from  the  continent.  The  situation  is  wild  and  roman- 
tic in  the  highest  degree,  having  on  the  one  hand  a  high  and 
precipitous  chain  of  rocks  overhanging  the  sea,  and  on  the  other 
the  narrow  entrance  to  the  beautiful  salt-water  lake,  called 
Loch  Alline,  which  is  in  many  places  finely  fringed  with  copse- 
wood.  The  ruins  of  Artornish  are  not  now  very  considerable, 
and  consist  chiefly  of  the  remains  of  an  old  keep,  or  tower,  with 
fragments  of  outward  defences.  But,  in  former  days,  it  was  a 
place  of  great  consequence,  being  one  of  the  principal  strong- 
holds which  the  Lords  of  the  Isles,  during  the  period  of  their 
stormy  independence,  possessed  upon  the  mainland  of  Argyle- 
shire.  Here  they  assembled  what  popular  tradition  calls  their 
parliaments,  meaning,  I  suppose,  their  coiir  plenihe,  or  assem- 
bly of  feudal  and  patriarchal  vassals  and  dependents.  From 
this  Castle  of  Artornish,  upon  the  19th  day  of  October,  1461, 
John  de  Yle,  designing  himself  Earl  of  Ross  and  Lord  of  the 
Isles,  granted,  in  the  style  of  an  independent  sovereign,  a 
commission  to  his  trusty  and  well-beloved  cousins,  Ronald  of  the 

502 


n 


their  astonishment,  turned  his  horse  round,  and  rode  quietly 
out.  But  having  given  an  alarm,  he  was  presently  assaulted 
as  he  left  the  assembly,  and  being  seized,  his  girths  were  cut, 
and  he  was  unhorsed.  J 

'At  this  instant  his  party  made  a  furious  attack  on  the  assail- 
ants, and  the  Major  killed  with  his  own  hand  the  man  who  had 
seized  him,  clapped  the  saddle,  ungirthed  as  it  was,  upon  his 
horse,  and,  vaulting  into  it,  rode  full  speed  through  the  streets 
of  Kendal,  calling  his  men  to  follow  him;  and,  with  his  whole  H 
party,  made  a  safe  retreat  to  his  asylum  in  the  lake.  The  action  ' 

marked  the  man.  Many  knew  him:  and  they  who  did  not, 
knew  as  well  from  the  exploit  that  it  could  be  nobody  but  Robin 
the  Devil.' 


I 


NOTES 

Isles,  and  Duncan,  Arch-Dean  of  the  Isles,  for  empowering  them 
to  enter  into  a  treaty  with  the  most  excellent  Prince  Edward,  by 
the  grace  of  God,  King  of  France  and  England,  and  Lord  of  Ire- 
land. Edward  IV,  on  his  part,  named  Laurence,  Bishop  of  Dur- 
ham, the  Earl  of  Worcester,  the  Prior  of  St.  John's,  Lord  Wen- 
lock,  and  Mr.  Robert  Stillington,  keeper  of  the  privy  seal,  his 
deputies  and  commissioners,  to  confer  with  those  named  by  the 
Lord  of  the  Isles.  The  conference  terminated  in  a  treaty,  by 
which  the  Lord  of  the  Isles  agreed  to  become  a  vassal  to  the 
crown  of  England,  and  to  assist  Edward  IV  and  James  Earl  of 
Douglas,  then  in  banishment,  in  subduing  the  realm  of  Scot- 
land. 

The  first  article  provides,  that  John  de  Isle,  Earl  of  Ross,  with 
his  son  Donald  Balloch,  and  his  grandson  John  de  Isle,  with  all 
their  subjects,  men,  people,  and  inhabitants,  become  vassals 
and  liegemen  to  Edward  IV  of  England,  and  assist  him  in  his 
wars  in  Scotland  or  Ireland;  and  then  follow  the  allowances  to 
be  made  to  the  Lord  of  the  Isles,  in  recompense  of  his  military 
service,  and  the  provisions  for  dividing  such  conquests  as  their 
united  arms  should  make  upon  the  mainland  of  Scotland  among 
the  confederates.  These  appear  such  curious  illustrations  of  the 
period,  that  they  are  here  subjoined:  — 

'Item,  The  seid  John  Erie  of  Rosse  shall,  from  the  seid  fest 
of  Whittesontyde  next  comyng,  yerely,  durying  his  lyf,  have 
and  take,  for  fees  and  wages  in  tyme  of  peas,  of  the  seid  most 
high  and  Christien  prince  c.  marc  sterlyng  of  Englysh  money; 
and  in  tyme  of  werre,  as  long  as  he  shall  entende  with  his 
myght  and  power  in  the  said  werres,  in  manner  and  fourme 
abovesaid,  he  shall  have  wages  of  cc.  lb.  sterlyng  of  English 
money  yearly ;  and  after  the  rate  of  the  tyme  that  he  shall  be 
occupied  in  the  seid  werres. 

'Item,  The  seid  Donald  shall,  from  the  seid  feste  of  Whitte- 
sontyde, have  and  take,  during  his  lyf,  yerly,  in  tyme  of  peas,  for 
his  fees  and  wages,  xx  /.  sterlyng  of  Englysh  money;  and,  when 
he  shall  be  occupied  and  intend  to  the  werre,with  his  myght  and 
power,  and  in  manner  and  fourme  aboveseid,  he  shall  have  and 

II  503 


NOTES 

take,  for  his  wages  yearly,  xl  /.  sterlynge  of  Englysh  money;  or 
for  the  rate  of  the  tyme  of  werre  — 

*  Item,  The  seid  John,  sonn  and  heire  apparant  of  the  said 
Donald,  shall  have  and  take,  yerely,  from  the  seid  fest,  for  his 
fees  and  wages,  in  the  tyme  of  peas,  x  I.  sterlynge  of  Englysh 
money;  and  for  tyme  of  werre,  and  his  intendyng  thereto,  in 
manner  and  fourme  aboveseid,  he  shall  have,  for  his  fees  and 
wages,  yearly  xx  /.  sterlynge  of  Englysh  money;  or  after  the  rate 
of  the  tyme  that  he  shall  be  occupied  in  the  werre:  And  the  seid 
John,  th'  Erie  Donald  and  John,  and  eche  of  them,  shall  have 
good  and  sufhciaunt  paiment  of  the  seid  fees  and  wages,  as  wel 
for  tyme  of  peas  as  of  werre,  accordyng  to  thees  articules  and 
appoyntements.  Item,  it  is  appointed,  accorded,  concluded,  and 
finally  determined,  that,  if  it  so  be  that  hereafter  the  seid  reaume 
of  Scotlande,  or  the  more  part  thereof,  be  conquered,  subdued, 
and  brought  to  the  obeissance  of  the  seid  most  high  and  Chris- 
tien  prince,  and  his  heires,  or  successoures,  of  the  seid  Lionell, 
in  fourme  aboveseid  descendyng,  be  the  assistance,  helpe,  and 
aide  of  the  seid  John  Erie  of  Rosse,  and  Donald,  and  of  James 
Erie  of  Douglas,  then,  the  seid  fees  and  wages  for  the  tyme  of 
peas  cessying,  the  same  erles  and  Donald  shall  have,  by  the 
graunte  of  the  same  most  Christien  prince,  all  the  possessions 
of  the  seid  reaume  beyonde  Scottishe  see,  they  to  be  departed 
equally  betwix  them:  eche  of  them,  his  heires  and  successours, 
to  holde  his  parte  of  the  seid  most  Christien  prince,  his  heires 
and  successours,  for  evermore,  in  right  of  his  croune  of  England, 
by  homage  and  feaute  to  be  done  therefore. 

'Item,  If  so  be  that,  by  th'  aide  and  assistence  of  the  seid 
James  Erie  of  Douglas,  the  saide  reaume  of  Scotlande  be  con- 
quered and  subdued  as  above,  then  he  shall  have,  enjoie,  and 
inherite  all  his  own  possessions,  landes,  and  inheritaunce,  on 
this  syde  the  Scottish  see;  that  is  to  saye,  betwixt  the  seid 
Scottishe  see  and  Englande,  such  he  hath  rejoiced  and  be 
possessed  of  before  this;  there  to  holde  them  of  the  seid  most 
high  and  Christien  prince,  his  heires,  and  successours,  as  is 
abovesaid,  for  evermore,  in  right  of  the  coroune  of  Englonde,  as 

504 


» 


NOTES 

weel  the  seid  Erie  of  Douglas,  as  his  helres  and  successours,  by 
homage  and  feaute  to  be  done  therefore.'  (Rymer's  Fcedera 
Conventiones  LitercE  et  cujuscunque  generis  Acta  Puhlica,  fol.  v, 
1741.) 

Such  was  the  treaty  of  Artornish;  but  it  does  not  appear  that 
the  allies  ever  made  any  very  active  efTort  to  realize  their  ambi- 
tious designs.  It  will  ser\e  to  show  both  the  power  of  these 
reguli,  and  their  independence  upon  the  Crown  of  Scotland. 

It  is  only  farther  necessary  to  say  of  the  Castle  of  Artornish, 
that  it  is  almost  opposite  to  the  Bay  of  Aros,  in  the  Island  of 
Mull,  where  there  was  another  castle,  the  occasional  residence 
of  the  Lord  of  the  Isles. 


Note  68,  p.  234 

The  seal  displays  a  taste  for  music,  which  could  scarcely  be 
expected  from  his  habits  and  local  predilections.  They  will  long 
follow  a  boat  in  which  any  musical  instrument  is  played,  and 
even  a  tune  simply  whistled  has  attractions  for  them.  The  Dean 
of  the  Isles  says  of  Heiskar,  a  small  uninhabited  rock,  about 
twelve  (Scottish)  miles  from  the  isle  of  Uist,  that  an  infinite 
slaughter  of  seals  takes  place  there. 

Note  69,  p.  238 

The  Sound  of  Mull,  which  divides  that  island  from  the  con- 
tinent of  Scotland,  is  one  of  the  most  striking  scenes  which  the 
Hebrides  afford  to  the  traveller.  Sailing  from  Oban  to  Aros,  or 
Tobermory,  through  a  narrow  channel,  yet  deep  enough  to  bear 
vessels  of  the  largest  burden,  he  has  on  his  left  the  bold  and 
mountainous  shores  of  Mull ;  on  the  right  those  of  that  district  of 
Argyleshire,  called  Morven,  or  Morvern,  successively  indented 
by  deep  salt-water  lochs,  running  up  many  miles  inland.  To 
the  southeastward  arise  a  prodigious  range  of  mountains,  among 
which  Cruachan  Ben  is  preeminent.  And  to  the  northeast  is  the 
no  less  huge  and  picturesque  range  of  the  Ardnamurchan  hills. 

50s 


NOTES 

Many  ruinous  castles,  situated  generally  upon  cliffs  overhanging 
the  ocean,  add  interest  to  the  scene.  Those  of  Donolly  and 
Dunstaffnage  are  first  passed,  then  that  of  Duart,  formerly 
belonging  to  the  chief  of  the  warlike  and  powerful  sept  of 
MacLeans,  and  the  scene  of  Miss  Baillie's  beautiful  tragedy, 
entitled  the  Family  Legend.  Still  passing  on  to  the  northward, 
Artornish  and  Aros  become  visible  upon  the  opposite  shores; 
and,  lastly,  Mingarry,  and  other  ruins  of  less  distinguished  note. 
In  fine  weather,  a  grander  and  more  impressive  scene,  both  from 
its  natural  beauties,  and  associations  with  ancient  history  and 
tradition,  can  hardly  be  imagined.  When  the  weather  is  rough, 
the  passage  is  both  difficult  and  dangerous,  from  the  narrowness 
of  the  channel,  and  in  part  from  the  number  of  inland  lakes,  out 
of  which  sally  forth  a  number  of  conflicting  and  thwarting  tides, 
making  the  navigation  perilous  to  open  boats.  The  sudden 
flaws  and  gusts  of  wind  which  issue  without  a  moment's  warn- 
ing from  the  mountain  glens,  are  equally  formidable.  So  that 
in  unsettled  weather,  a  stranger,  if  not  much  accustomed  to  the 
sea,  may  sometimes  add  to  the  other  sublime  sensations  excited 
by  the  scene,  that  feeling  of  dignity  which  arises  from  a  sense 
of  danger. 

Note  70,  p.  238 

The  number  of  the  western  isles  of  Scotland  exceeds  two 
hundred,  of  which  St.  Kilda  is  the  most  northerly,  anciently 
called  Hirth,  or  Hirt,  probably  from  'earth,'  being  in  fact  the 
whole  globe  to  its  inhabitants.  Hay,  which  now  belongs  almost 
entirely  to  Walter  Campbell,  Esq.,  of  Shawfield,  is  by  far  the 
most  fertile  of  the  Hebrides,  and  has  been  greatly  improved 
under  the  spirited  and  sagacious  management  of  the  present 
proprietor.  This  was  in  ancient  times  the  principal  abode  of  the 
Lords  of  the  Isles,  being,  if  not  the  largest,  the  most  important 
island  of  their  archipelago.  In  Martin's  time,  some  relics  of  their 
grandeur  were  yet  extant.  *Loch-Finlagan,  about  three  miles 
in  circumference,  affords  salmon,  trouts,  and  eels:  this  lake  lies 
in  the  centre  of  the  isle.  The  Isle  Finlagan,  from  which  this  lake 

506 


NOTES 

hath  its  name,  is  in  it.  It's  famous  for  being  once  the  court  in 
which  the  great  AlacDonald,  King  of  the  Isles,  had  his  residence; 
his  houses,  chapel,  etc.,  are  now  ruinous.  His  guards  de  corps, 
called  Lucht-tach,  kept  guard  on  the  lakeside  nearest  to  the  isle; 
the  walls  of  their  houses  are  still  to  be  seen  there.  The  high 
court  of  judicature,  consisting  of  fourteen,  sat  always  here;  and 
there  was  an  appeal  to  them  from  all  the  courts  in  the  isles:  the 
eleventh  share  of  the  sum  in  debate  was  due  to  the  principal 
judge.  There  was  a  big  stone  of  seven  foot  square,  in  which 
there  was  a  deep  impression  made  to  receive  the  feet  of 
MacDonald;  for  he  was  crowned  King  of  the  Isles  standing  in 
this  stone,  and  swore  that  he  would  continue  his  vassals  in  the 
possession  of  their  lands,  and  do  exact  justice  to  all  his  subjects: 
and  then  his  father's  sword  was  put  into  his  hand.  The  Bishop 
of  Argyle  and  seven  priests  anointed  him  king,  in  presence  of  all 
the  heads  of  the  tribes  in  the  isles  and  continent,  and  were  his 
vassals;  at  which  time  the  orator  rehearsed  a  catalogue  of  his 
ancestors,'  etc.  (Martin's  Account  of  the  Western  Isles,  8vo, 
London,  1716,  p.  240.) 

Note  71,  p.  239 

The  castle  of  Mingarry  is  situated  on  the  seacoast  of  the  dis- 
trict of  Ardnamurchan.  The  ruins,  which  are  tolerably  entire, 
are  surrounded  by  a  very  high  wall,  forming  a  kind  of  polygon, 
for  the  purpose  of  adapting  itself  to  the  projecting  angles  of  a 
precipice  overhanging  the  sea,  on  which  the  castle  stands.  It 
was  anciently  the  residence  of  the  Maclans,  a  clan  of  Macdonalds 
descended  from  Ian,  or  John,  a  grandson  of  Angus  Og,  Lord  of 
the  Isles.  The  last  time  that  Mingarr>'  was  of  military  import- 
ance, occurs  in  the  celebrated  Leabhar  dearg,  or  Red-Book  of 
Clanronald,  a  MS.  renowned  in  the  Ossianic  controversy. 
Allaster  MacDonald,  commonly  called  Colquitto,  who  com- 
manded the  Irish  auxiliaries,  sent  over  by  the  Earl  of  Antrim 
during  the  great  civil  war  to  the  assistance  of  Montrose,  began 
his  enterprise  in  1644,  by  taking  the  castles  of  Kinloch-Alline, 


507 


i 


NOTES 

and  Mingarry,  the  last  of  which  made  considerable  resistance, 
as  might,  from  the  strength  of  the  situation,  be  expected.  In  the 
meanwhile,  AUaster  MacDonald's  ships,  which  had  brought  him 
over,  were  attacked  in  Loch  Eisord,  in  Skye,  by  an  armament 
sent  round  by  the  covenanting  parliament,  and  his  own  vessel 
was  taken.  This  circumstance  is  said  chiefly  to  have  induced 
him  to  continue  in  Scotland,  where  there  seemed  little  prospect 
of  raising  an  army  in  behalf  of  the  king.  He  had  no  sooner 
moved  eastward  to  join  Montrose,  a  junction  which  he  effected 
in  the  braes  of  Athole,  than  the  Marquis  of  Argyle  besieged  the 
castle  of  Mingarry,  but  without  success.  Among  other  warriors 
and  chiefs  whom  Argyle  summoned  to  his  camp  to  assist  upon 
this  occasion,  was  John  of  Moidart,  the  Captain  of  Clanronald. 
Clanronald  appeared;  but,  far  from  yielding  effectual  assistance 
to  Argyle,  he  took  the  opportunity  of  being  in  arms  to  lay  waste 
the  district  of  Sunart,  then  belonging  to  the  adherents  of  Argyle, 
and  sent  part  of  the  spoil  to  relieve  the  castle  of  Mingarry.  Thus 
the  castle  was  maintained  until  relieved  by  AUaster  MacDonald 
(Colquitto),  who  had  been  detached  for  the  purpose  by  Mon- 
trose. These  particulars  are  hardly  worth  mentioning,  were  they 
not  connected  with  the  memorable  successes  of  Montrose, 
related  by  an  eyewitness,  and  hitherto  unknown  to  Scottish 
historians. 

Note  72,  p.  239 

Somerled  was  thane  of  Argyle  and  Lord  of  the  Isles,  about 
the  middle  of  the  twelfth  century.  He  seems  to  have  exercised 
his  authority  in  both  capacities,  independent  of  the  Crown  of 
Scotland,  against  which  he  often  stood  in  hostility.  He  made 
various  incursions  upon  the  western  lowlands  during  the  reign 
of  Malcolm  IV,  and  seems  to  have  made  peace  with  him  upon 
the  terms  of  an  independent  prince,  about  the  year  1157.  In 
1 1 64,  he  resumed  the  war  against  Malcolm,  and  invaded  Scot- 
land with  a  large  but  probably  a  tumultuary  army,  collected  in 
the  isles,  in  the  mainland  of  Argyleshire,  and  in  the  neighbour- 
ing provinces  of  Ireland.   He  was  defeated  and  ^ain  in  an  en- 

508 


« 


NOTES 

gagement  with  a  very  inferior  force,  near  Renfrew.  His  son 
Gillicolane  fell  in  the  same  battle.  This  mighty  chieftain  married 
a  daughter  of  Olaus,  King  of  Man.  From  him  our  genealogists 
deduce  two  dynasties,  distinguished  in  the  stormy  history  of  the 
middle  ages;  the  Lords  of  the  Isles  descended  from  his  elder  son 
Ronald,  —  and  the  Lords  of  Lorn,  who  took  their  surname  of 
M'Dougal,  as  descended  of  his  second  son  Dougal.  That 
Somerled's  territories  upon  the  mainland,  and  upon  the  islands, 
should  have  been  thus  divided  between  his  two  sons,  instead  of 
passing  to  the  elder  exclusively,  may  illustrate  the  uncertainty 
of  descent  among  the  great  Highland  families,  which  we  shall 
presently  notice. 

Note  73,  p.  239 

The  representative  of  this  independent  principality,  for  such 
it  seems  to  have  been,  though  acknowledging  occasionally  the 
preeminence  of  the  Scottish  Crown,  was,  at  the  period  of  the 
poem,  Angus,  called  Angus  Og;  but  the  name  has  been,  euphonice 
gratia,  exchanged  for  that  of  Ronald,  which  frequently  occurs 
in  the  genealogy.  Angus  was  a  protector  of  Robert  Bruce,  whom 
he  received  in  his  castle  of  Dunnaverty,  during  the  time  of  his 
greatest  distress.  As  I  shall  be  equally  liable  to  censure  for 
attempting  to  decide  a  controversy  which  has  long  existed 
between  three  distinguished  chieftains  of  this  family,  who  have 
long  disputed  the  representation  of  the  Lord  of  the  Isles,  or  for 
leaving  a  question  of  such  importance  altogether  untouched,  I 
choose,  in  the  first  place,  to  give  such  information  as  I  have 
been  able  to  derive  from  Highland  genealogists,  and  which,  for 
those  who  have  patience  to  investigate  such  subjects,  really 
contains  some  curious  information  concerning  the  historj'  of  the 
Isles.  In  the  second  place,  I  shall  ofTer  a  few  remarks  upon  the 
rules  of  succession  at  that  period,  without  pretending  to  decide 
their  bearing  upon  the  question  at  issue,  which  must  depend 
upon  evidence  which  I  have  had  no  opportunity  to  examine. 

'Angus  Og,'  says  an  ancient  manuscript  translated  from  the 
Gaelic,  'son  of  Angus  Mor,  son  of  Donald,  son  of  Ronald,  son 

509 


f 


NOTES 

of  Somerled,  high  chief  and  superior  Lord  of  Innisgall  (or  the 
Isles  of  the  Gael,  the  general  name  given  to  the  Hebrides),  he 
married  a  daughter  of  Cumbui,  namely,  Cathan ;  she  was  mother 
to  John,  son  of  Angus,  and  with  her  came  an  unusual  portion 
from  Ireland,  viz.  twenty-four  clans,  of  whom  twenty-four 
families  in  Scotland  are  descended.  Angus  had  another  son, 
namely,  young  John  Fraoch,  whose  descendants  are  called  Clan- 
Ean  of  Glencoe,  and  the  MacDonalds  of  Fraoch.  This  Angus 
Og  died  in  Isla,  where  his  body  was  interred.  His  son  John 
succeeded  to  the  inheritance  of  Innisgall.  He  had  good  descend- 
ants, namely,  three  sons  procreate  of  Ann,  daughter  of  Rodric, 
high  chief  of  Lorn,  and  one  daughter,  Mary,  married  to  John 
Maclean,  Laird  of  Duart,  and  Lauchlan,  his  brother,  Laird  of 
Coll;  she  was  interred  in  the  church  of  the  Black  Nuns.  The 
eldest  sons  of  John  were  Ronald,  Godfrey,  and  Angus.  .  .  .  He 
gave  Ronald  a  great  inheritance.  These  were  the  lands  which 
he  gave  him,  viz.,  from  Kilcumin  in  Abertarf  to  the  river  Seil, 
and  from  thence  to  Beilli,  north  of  Eig  and  Rum,  and  the  two 
Uists,  and  from  thence  to  the  foot  of  the  river  Glaichan,  and 
threescore  long  ships.  John  married  afterwards  Margaret 
Stewart,  daughter  to  Robert  Stewart,  King  of  Scotland,  called 
John  Fernyear;  she  bore  him  three  good  sons,  Donald  of  the 
Isles,  the  heir,  John  the  Tainister  (i.e.,  Thane),  the  second 
son,  and  Alexander  Carrach.  John  had  another  son  called 
Marcus,  of  whom  the  clan  Macdonald  of  Cnoc,  in  Tirowen, 
are  descended.  This  John  lived  long,  and  made  donations  to 
Icolumkill;  he  covered  the  chapel  of  Eorsay-Elan,  the  chapel  of 
Finlagam,  and  the  chapel  of  the  Isle  of  Tsuibhne,  and  gave  the 
proper  furniture  for  the  service  of  God,  upholding  the  clergy 
and  monks;  he  built  or  repaired  the  church  of  the  Holy  Cross 
immediately  before  his  death.  He  died  at  his  own  castle  of 
Ardtorinish,  many  priests  and  monks  took  the  sacrament  at  his 
funeral,  and  they  embalmed  the  body  of  this  dear  man,  and 
brought  it  to  Icolumkill ;  the  abbot,  monks,  and  vicar,  came  as 
they  ought  to  meet  the  King  of  Fiongal,^  and  out  of  great 

'  Western  Isles  and  adjacent  coast. 
510 


II 


NOTES 

respect  to  his  memory  mourned  eight  days  and  nights  over  it, 
and  laid  it  in  the  same  grave  with  his  father,  in  the  church  of 
Oran,  1380. 

'  Ronald,  son  of  John,  was  chief  ruler  of  the  Isles  in  his  father's 
lifetime,  and  was  old  in  the  government  at  his  father's  death. 

'He  assembled  the  gentry  of  the  Isles,  brought  the  sceptre 
from  Kildonan  in  Eig,  and  delivered  it  to  his  brother  Donald, 
who  was  thereupon  called  MacDonald,  and  Donald  Lord  of  the 
Isles,^  contrary  to  the  opinion  of  the  men  of  the  Isles. 

'  Ronald,  son  of  John,  son  of  Angus  Og,  was  a  great  supporter 
of  the  church  and  clergy;  his  descendants  are  called  Clanronald. 
He  gave  the  lands  of  Tiruma,  in  Uist,  to  the  minister  of  it  for 
ever,  for  the  honour  of  God  and  Columkill ;  he  was  proprietor  of 
all  the  lands  of  the  north  along  the  coast  and  the  isles ;  he  died  in 
the  year  of  Christ  1386,  in  his  own  mansion  of  Castle  Tirim, 
leaving  five  children.  Donald  of  the  Isles,  son  of  John,  son  of 
Angus  Og,  the  brother  of  Ronald,  took  possession  of  Inisgall  by 
the  consent  of  his  brother  and  the  gentry  thereof;  they  were  all 
obedient  to  him :  he  married  Mary  Lesley,  daughter  to  the  Earl 
of  Ross,  and  by  her  came  the  earldom  of  Ross  to  the  MacDonalds. 
After  his  succession  to  that  earldom,  he  was  called  MacDonald, 
Lord  of  the  Isles  and  Earl  of  Ross.  There  are  many  things  writ- 
ten of  him  in  other  places. 

'He  fought  the  battle  of  Garioch  (i.e.,  Harlaw)  against  Duke 
Murdoch,  the  governor,  the  Earl  of  Mar  commanded  the  army, 
in  support  of  his  claim  to  the  earldom  of  Ross:  which  was  ceded 
to  him  by  King  James  the  First,  after  his  release  from  the  King 
of  England,  and  Duke  Murdoch,  his  two  sons  and  retainers, 
were  beheaded:  he  gave  lands  in  Mull  and  Isla  to  the  minister 
of  Hi,  and  every  privilege  which  the  minister  of  lona  had 
formerly,  besides  vessels  of  gold  and  silver  to  Columkill  for  the 
monastery,  and  became  himself  one  of  the  fraternity.  He  left 
issue,  a  lawful  heir  to  Innisgall  and  Ross,  namely,  Alexander, 
the  son  of  Donald:  he  died  in  Isla,  and  his  body  was  interred 
in  the  south  side  of  the  temple  of  Oran.  Alexander,  called  John 

'  Innisgal. 


NOTES 

of  the  Isles,  son  of  Alexander  of  the  Isles,  son  of  Donald  of  the 
Isles.  Angus,  the  third  son  of  John,  son  of  Angus  Og,  married 
the  daughter  of  John,  the  son  of  Allan,  which  connexion  caused 
some  disagreement  betwixt  the  two  families  about  their  marches 
and  division  of  lands,  the  one  party  adhering  to  Angus,  and  the 
other  to  John:  the  differences  increased  so  much,  that  John 
obtained  from  Allan  all  the  lands  betwixt  "Abhan  Fahda  " 
(i.e.,  the  long  river)  and  "old  na  sionnach"  (i.e.,  the  fox-burn 
brook),  in  the  upper  part  of  Cantyre.  Allan  went  to  the  king  to 
complain  of  his  son-in-law;  in  a  short  time  thereafter,  there 
happened  to  be  a  great  meeting  about  this  young  Angus's  lands 
to  the  north  of  Inverness,  where  he  was  murdered  by  his  own 
harper  MacCairbre,  by  cutting  his  throat  with  a  long  knife.  He  ^ 
lived  a  year  thereafter,  and  many  of  those  concerned  were 
delivered  up  to  the  king.  Angus's  wife  was  pregnant  at  the  time 
of  his  murder,  and  she  bore  him  a  son  who  was  named  Donald, 
and  called  Donald  Du.  He  was  kept  in  confinement  until  he 
was  thirty  years  of  age,  when  he  was  released  by  the  men  of 
Glenco,  by  the  strong  hand.  After  this  enlargement,  he  came  to 
the  Isles,  and  convened  the  gentry  thereof.  There  happened 
great  feuds  betwixt  these  families  while  Donald  Du  was  in  con- 
finement, insomuch  that  MacCean  of  Ardnamurchan  destroyed 
the  greatest  part  of  the  posterity  of  John  Mor  of  the  Isles  and 
Cantyre.  For  John  Cathanach,  son  of  John,  son  of  Donald 
Balloch,  son  of  John  Mor,  son  of  John,  son  of  Angus  Og  (the 
chief  of  the  descendants  of  John  Mor),  and  John  Mor,  son  of 
John  Cathanach,  and  young  John,  son  of  John  Cathanach,  and 
young  Donald  Balloch,  son  of  John  Cathanach,  were  treacher- 
ously taken  by  MacCean  in  the  island  of  Finlagan,  in  Isla,  and 
carried  to  Edinburgh,  where  he  got  them  hanged  at  the  Burrow- 
Muir,  and  their  bodies  were  buried  in  the  church  of  St.  Anthony, 
called  the  New  Church.  There  were  none  left  alive  at  that  time 
of  the  children  of  John  Cathanach,  except  Alexander,  the  son  of 
John  Cathanach,  and  Agnes  Flach,  who  concealed  themselves 
in  the  glens  of  Ireland.    MacCean,  hearing  of  their  hiding- 

*  The  murderer,  I  presume,  not  the  man  who  was  murdered. 


NOTES 

places,  went  to  cut  down  the  woods  of  these  glens,  in  order  to 
destroy  Alexander,  and  extirpate  the  whole  race.  At  length 
MacCean  and  Alexander  met,  were  reconciled,  and  a  marriage 
alliance  took  place;  Alexander  married  MacCean's  daughter, 
and  she  brought  him  good  children.  The  MacDonalds  of  the 
north  had  also  descendants;  for,  after  the  death  of  John,  Lord 
of  the  Isles,  and  Earl  of  Ross,  and  the  murder  of  Angus,  Alex- 
ander, the  son  of  Archibald,  the  son  of  Alexander  of  the  Isles, 
took  possession,  and  John  was  in  possession  of  the  earldom  of 
Ross,  and  the  north  bordering  country;  he  married  a  daughter 
of  the  Earl  of  Moray,  of  whom  some  of  the  men  of  the  north  had 
descended.  The  MacKenzies  rose  against  Alexander,  and 
fought  the  battle  called  "  Blar  na  Paire."  Alexander  had  only 
a  few  of  the  men  of  Ross  at  the  battle.  He  went  after  that 
battle  to  take  possession  of  the  Isles,  and  sailed  in  a  ship  to  the 
south  to  see  if  he  could  find  any  of  the  posterity  of  John  Mor 
alive,  to  rise  along  with  him;  but  MacCean  of  Ardnamurchan 
watched  him  as  he  sailed  past,  followed  him  to  Oransay  and 
Colonsay,  went  to  the  house  where  he  was,  and  he  and  Alexander, 
son  of  John  Cathanach,  murdered  him  there. 

'A  good  while  after  these  things  fell  out,  Donald  Galda,  son 
of  Alexander,  son  of  Archibald,  became  major;  he,  with  the 
advice  and  direction  of  the  Earl  of  Moray,  came  to  the  Isles, 
and  MacLeod  of  the  Lewis,  and  many  of  the  gentry  of  the  Isles, 
rose  with  him :  they  went  by  the  promontory  of  Ardnamurchan, 
where  they  met  Alexander,  the  son  of  John  Cathanach,  were 
reconciled  to  him,  he  joined  his  men  with  theirs  against 
MacCean  of  Ardnamurchan,  came  upon  him  at  a  place  called 
the  Silver  Craig,  where  he  and  his  three  sons,  and  a  great  num- 
ber of  his  people,  were  killed,  and  Donald  Galda  was  immedi- 
ately declared  MacDonald:  And,  after  the  affair  of  Ardnamur- 
chan, all  the  men  of  the  Isles  yielded  to  him,  but  he  did  not  live 
above  seven  or  eight  weeks  after  it ;  he  died  at  Carnaborg,  in 
Mull,  without  issue.  He  had  three  sisters,  daughters  of  Alexan- 
der, son  of  Archibald,  who  were  portioned  in  the  north  upon  the 
continent,  but  the  earldom  of  Ross  was  kept  for  them.  Alex- 
ia 513 


NOTES 

ander,  the  son  of  Archibald,  had  a  natural  son,  called  John  Cam, 
of  whom  is  descended  Achnacoichan,  in  Ramoeh,  and  Donald 
Gorm,  son  of  Ronald,  son  of  Alexander  Duson,  of  John  Cam. 
Donald  Du,  son  of  Angus,  son  of  John  of  the  Isles,  son  of  Alex- 
ander of  the  Isles,  son  of  Donald  of  the  Isles,  son  of  John  of  the 
Isles,  son  of  Angus  Og,  namely,  the  true  heir  of  the  Isles  and 
Ross,  came  after  his  release  from  captivity  to  the  Isles,  and 
convened  the  men  thereof,  and  he  and  the  Earl  of  Lennox 
agreed  to  raise  a  great  army  for  the  purpose  of  taking  possession, 
and  a  ship  came  from  England  with  a  supply  of  money  to 
carry  on  the  war,  which  landed  at  Mull,  and  the  money  was 
given  to  MacLean  of  Duart  to  be  distributed  among  the 
commanders  of  the  army,  which  they  not  receiving  in  propor- 
tion as  it  should  have  been  distributed  among  them,  caused  the 
army  to  disperse,  which,  when  the  Earl  of  Lennox  heard,  he 
disbanded  his  own  men,  and  made  it  up  with  the  King.  Mac- 
Donald  went  to  Ireland  to  raise  men,  but  he  died  on  his  way  to 
Dublin,  at  Drogheda,  of  a  fever,  without  issue  of  either  sons  or 
daughters.' 

In  this  history  may  be  traced,  though  the  Bard,  or  Seanna- 
chie,  touches  such  a  delicate  discussion  with  a  gentle  hand,  the 
point  of  difference  between  the  three  principal  septs  descended 
from  the  Lords  of  the  Isles.  The  first  question,  and  one  of  no 
easy  solution,  where  so  little  evidence  is  produced,  respects 
the  nature  of  the  connexion  of  John,  called  by  the  Archdean 
of  the  Isles  'the  Good  John  of  Ila,'  and  'the  last  Lord  of  the 
Isles,'  with  Anne,  daughter  of  Roderick  MacDougal,  high  chief 
of  Lorn.  In  the  absence  of  positive  evidence,  presumptive  must 
be  resorted  to,  and  I  own  it  appears  to  render  it  in  the  highest 
degree  improbable  that  this  connexion  was  otherwise  than 
legitimate.  In  the  wars  between  David  II  and  Edward  Baliol, 
John  of  the  Isles  espoused  the  Baliol  interest,  to  which  he  was 
probably  determined  by  his  alliance  with  Roderick  of  Lorn, 
who  was,  from  every  family  predilection,  friendly  to  Baliol  and 
hostile  to  Bruce.  It  seems  absurd  to  suppose,  that  between  two 
chiefs  of  the  same  descent,  and  nearly  equal  power  and  rank 

514 


n 


NOTES 

(though  the  MacDougals  had  been  much  crushed  by  Robert 
Bruce),  such  a  connexion  should  have  been  that  of  concubinage; 
and  it  appears  more  likely  that  the  tempting  offer  of  an  alliance 
with  the  Bruce  family,  when  they  had  obtained  the  decided 
superiority  in  Scotland,  induced  'the  good  John  of  Ila,'  to  dis- 
inherit, to  a  certain  extent,  his  eldest  son  Ronald,  who  came  of 
a  stock  so  unpopular  as  the  MacDougals,  and  to  call  to  his  suc- 
cession his  younger  family,  born  of  Margaret  Stuart,  daughter 
of  Robert,  afterwards  King  of  Scotland.  The  setting  aside  of 
this  elder  branch  of  his  family,  was  most  probably  a  condition 
of  his  new  alliance,  and  his  being  received  into  favour  with  the 
dynasty  he  had  always  opposed.  Nor  were  the  laws  of  succession 
at  this  early  period  so  clearly  understood  as  to  bar  such  trans- 
actions. The  numerous  and  strange  claims  set  up  to  the  crown  of 
Scotland,  when  vacant  by  the  death  of  Alexander  III,  make  it 
manifest  how  very  little  the  indefeasible  hereditary  right  of 
primogeniture  was  valued  at  that  period.  In  fact,  the  title  of 
the  Bruces  themselves  to  the  crown,  though  justly  the  most 
popular,  when  assumed  with  the  determination  of  asserting  the 
independence  of  Scotland,  was,  upon  pure  principle,  greatly 
inferior  to  that  of  Baliol.  For  Bruce,  the  competitor,  claimed 
as  son  of  Isabella,  second  daughter  of  David,  Earl  of  Huntingdon ; 
and  John  Baliol,  as  grandson  of  Margaret,  the  elder  daughter 
of  that  same  earl.  So  that  the  plea  of  Bruce  was  founded  upon 
the  very  loose  idea,  that  as  the  great  grandson  of  David  I,  King 
of  Scotland,  and  the  nearest  collateral  relation  of  Alexander 
III,  he  was  entitled  to  succeed  in  exclusion  of  the  great  great 
grandson  of  the  same  David,  though  by  an  elder  daughter. 
This  maxim  savoured  of  the  ancient  practice  of  Scotland,  which 
often  called  a  brother  to  succeed  to  the  crown  as  nearer  in  blood 
than  a  grand-child,  or  even  a  son  of  a  deceased  monarch.  But, 
in  truth,  the  maxims  of  inheritance  in  Scotland  were  sometimes 
departed  from  at  periods  when  they  were  much  more  distinctly 
understood.  Such  a  transposition  took  place  in  the  family  of 
Hamilton,  in  1513,  when  the  descendants  of  James,  third  Lord, 
by  Lady  Janet  Home,  were  set  aside,  with  an  appanage  of  great 

515 


NOTES 

value  indeed,  in  order  to  call  to  the  succession  those  which  he 
had  by  a  subsequent  marriage  with  Janet  Beatoun.  In  short, 
many  other  examples  might  be  quoted  to  show  that  the  ques- 
tion of  legitimacy  is  not  always  determined  by  the  fact  of 
succession;  and  there  seems  reason  to  believe  that  Ronald, 
descendant  of  'John  of  Ila,'  by  Ann  of  Lorn,  was  legitimate,  and 
therefore  Lord  of  the  Isles  de  jure,  though  de  facto  his  younger 
half-brother  Donald,  son  of  his  father's  second  marriage  with 
the  Princess  of  Scotland,  superseded  him  in  his  right,  and 
apparently  by  his  own  consent.  From  this  Donald  so  preferred 
is  descended  the  family  of  Sleat,  now  Lords  MacDonald.  On 
the  other  hand,  from  Ronald,  the  excluded  heir,  upon  whom  a 
very  large  appanage  was  settled,  descended  the  chiefs  of  Glen- 
gary  and  Clanronald,  each  of  whom  had  large  possessions,  and 
a  numerous  vassalage,  and  boasted  a  long  descent  of  warlike 
ancestry.  Their  common  ancestor  Ronald  was  murdered  by 
the  Earl  of  Ross,  at  the  Monastery  of  Elcho,  A.D.  1346.  I 
believe  it  has  been  subject  of  fierce  dispute,  whether  Donald, 
who  carried  on  the  line  of  Glengary,  or  Allan  of  Moidart,  the 
ancestor  of  the  captains  of  Clanronald,  was  the  eldest  son  of 
Ronald,  the  son  of  John  of  Isla.  A  humble  Lowlander  may  be 
permitted  to  waive  the  discussion,  since  a  Sennachie  of  no  small 
note,  who  wrote  in  the  sixteenth  century,  expresses  himself 
upon  this  delicate  topic  in  the  following  words:  — 

'I  have  now  given  you  an  account  of  every  thing  you  can 
expect  of  the  descendants  of  the  clan  Colla,  (i.e.,  the  MacDon- 
alds,)  to  the  death  of  Donald  Du  at  Drogheda,  namely,  the  true 
line  of  those  who  possessed  the  Isles,  Ross,  and  the  mountainous 
countries  of  Scotland.  It  was  Donald,  the  son  of  Angus,  that 
was  killed  at  Inverness,  by  his  (own  harper  Mac-i'Cairbre,)  son 
of  John  of  the  Isles,  son  of  Alexander,  son  of  Donald,  son  of 
John,  son  of  Angus  Og.  And  I  know  not  which  of  his  kindred 
or  relations  is  the  true  heir,  except  these  five  sons  of  John,  the 
son  of  Angus  Og,  whom  I  here  set  down  for  you,  namely, 
Ronald  and  Godfrey,  the  two  sons  of  the  daughter  of  MacDon- 
ald of  Lorn,  and  Donald  and  John  Mor,  and  Alexander  Carrach, 

516 


NOTES 

the  three  sons  of  Margaret  Stewart,  daughter  of  Robert  Stewart, 
King  of  Scotland.'   {Leahhar  Dearg.) 

Note  74,  p.  242 

The  House  of  Lorn,  as  we  observed  in  a  former  note,  was,  like 
the  Lord  of  the  Isles,  descended  from  a  son  of  Somerled,  slain 
at  Renfrew,  in  1164.  This  son  obtained  the  succession  of  his 
mainland  territories,  comprehending  the  greater  part  of  the 
three  districts  of  Lorn,  in  Argyleshire,  and  of  course  might 
rather  be  considered  as  petty  princes  than  feudal  barons.  They 
assumed  the  patronymic  appellation  of  MacDougal,  by  which 
they  are  distinguished  in  the  history  of  the  Middle  Ages.  The 
Lord  of  Lorn,  who  flourished  during  the  wars  of  Bruce,  was 
Allaster  (or  Alexander)  MacDougal,  called  Allaster  of  Argyle. 
He  had  married  the  third  daughter  of  John,  called  the  Red 
Comyn,^  who  was  slain  by  Bruce  in  the  Dominican  Church  at 
Dumfries,  and  hence  he  was  a  mortal  enemy  of  that  prince,  and 
more  than  once  reduced  him  to  great  straits  during  the  early 
and  distressed  period  of  his  reign,  as  we  shall  have  repeated 
occasion  to  notice.  Bruce,  when  he  began  to  obtain  an  ascend- 
ency in  Scotland,  took  the  first  opportunity  in  his  power  to 
requite  these  injuries.  He  marched  into  Argyleshire  to  lay 
waste  the  country'.  John  of  Lorn,  son  of  the  chieftain,  was 
posted  with  his  followers  in  the  formidable  pass  between  Dal- 
mally  and  Bunawe.  It  is  a  narrow  path  along  the  verge  of  the 
huge  and  precipitous  mountain,  called  Cruachan-Ben,  and 
guarded  on  the  other  side  by  a  precipice  overhanging  Loch 
Awe.  The  pass  seems  to  the  eye  of  a  soldier  as  strong,  as  it  is 

'  The  aunt,  according  to  Lord  Hailes.  But  the  genealogy  Is  distinctly  given  by 
Wyntoun:  — 

The  thryd  douchtyr  of  Red  Cwmyn, 
Alysawndyr  of  Argayle  syne 
Tuk,  and  weddyt  til  hys  wyf. 
And  on  hyr  he  gat  in-til  hys  K-fe 
Jhon  of  Lome,  the  quhilk  gat 
Ewyn  of  Lome  eftyr  that. 

Wyntoun's  Chronide,  book  viii,  chap,  vi,  1.  206. 


NOTES 

wild  and  romantic  to  that  of  an  ordinary  traveller.  But  the  skill 
of  Bruce  had  anticipated  this  difficulty.  While  his  main  body, 
engaged  in  a  skirmish  with  the  men  of  Lorn,  detained  their 
attention  to  the  front  of  their  position,  James  of  Douglas,  with 
Sir  Alexander  Fraser,  Sir  William  Wiseman,  and  Sir  Andrew 
Grey,  ascended  the  mountain  with  a  select  body  of  archery,  and 
obtained  possession  of  the  heights  which  commanded  the  pass. 
A  volley  of  arrows  descending  upon  them  directly  warned  the 
Argyleshire  men  of  their  perilous  situation,  and  their  resistance, 
which  had  hitherto  been  bold  and  manly,  was  changed  into  a 
precipitate  flight.  The  deep  and  rapid  river  of  Awe  was  then 
(we  learn  the  fact  from  Barbour  with  some  surprise)  crossed 
by  a  bridge.  This  bridge  the  mountaineers  attempted  to 
demolish,  but  Bruce's  followers  were  too  close  upon  their  rear; 
they  were  therefore,  without  refuge  and  defence,  and  were 
dispersed  with  great  slaughter.  John  of  Lorn,  suspicious  of  the 
event,  had  early  betaken  himself  to  the  galleys  which  he  had 
upon  the  lake;  but  the  feelings  which  Barbour  assigns  to  him, 
while  witnessing  the  rout  and  slaughter  of  his  followers,  excul- 
pate him  from  the  charge  of  cowardice. 

To  Jhone  off  Lome  it  suld  displese 

I  trow,  Quhen  he  his  men  mycht  se, 

Ovvte  off  his  schippis  fra  the  se, 

Be  slayne  and  chassyt  in  the  hill. 

That  he  mycht  set  na  help  thar  till. 

Bot  it  angrys  als  gretumly, 

To  gud  hartis  that  ar  worthi, 

To  se  thair  fayis  fulfill  thair  will 

.'^s  to  thaim  selff  to  thole  the  ill.  —  Book  vii,  v.  394. 

After  this  decisive  engagement,  Bruce  laid  waste  Argyleshire, 
and  besieged  Dunstaffnage  Castle,  on  the  western  shore  of  Lorn, 
compelled  it  to  surrender,  and  placed  in  that  principal  strong- 
hold of  the  MacDougals  a  garrison  and  governor  of  his  own. 
The  elder  MacDougal,  now  wearied  with  the  contest,  submitted 
to  the  victor;  but  his  son,  'rebellious,'  says  Barbour,  'as  he 
wont  to  be,'  fled  to  England  by  sea.  When  the  wars  between  the 
Bruce  and  Baliol  factions  again  broke  out  in  the  reign  of  David 
II,  the  Lords  of  Lorn  were  again  found  upon  the  losing  side, 

518 


NOTES 

owing  to  their  hereditary  enmity  to  the  house  of  Bruce.  Ac- 
cordingly, upon  the  issue  of  that  contest,  they  were  deprived  by 
David  II  and  his  successor  of  by  far  the  greater  part  of  their 
extensive  territories,  which  were  conferred  upon  Stewart,  called 
the  Knight  of  Lorn.  The  house  of  MacDougal  continued,  how- 
ever, to  survive  the  loss  of  power,  and  affords  a  very  rare,  if 
not  a  unique,  instance  of  a  family  of  such  unlimited  power,  and 
so  distinguished  during  the  Middle  Ages,  surviving  the  decay  of 
their  grandeur,  and  flourishing  in  a  private  station.  The  Castle 
of  Dunolly,  near  Oban,  with  its  dependencies,  was  the  principal 
part  of  what  remained  to  them,  with  their  right  of  chieftainship 
over  the  families  of  their  name  and  blood.  These  they  continued 
to  enjoy  until  the  year  1715,  when  the  representative  incurred 
the  penalty  of  forfeiture,  for  his  accession  to  the  insurrection  of 
that  period ;  thus  losing  the  remains  of  his  inheritance,  to  replace 
upon  the  throne  the  descendants  of  those  princes,  whose  acces- 
sion his  ancestors  had  opposed  at  the  expense  of  their  feudal 
grandeur.  The  estate  was,  however,  restored  about  1745,  to  the 
father  of  the  present  proprietor,  whom  family  experience  had 
taught  the  hazard  of  interfering  with  the  established  govern- 
ment, and  who  remained  quiet  upon  that  occasion.  He  therefore 
regained  his  property  when  many  Highland  chiefs  lost  theirs. 

Nothing  can  be  more  wildly  beautiful  than  the  situation  of 
Dunolly.  The  ruins  are  situated  upon  a  bold  and  precipitous 
promontory,  overhanging  Loch  Etive,  and  distant  about  a 
mile  from  the  village  and  port  of  Oban.  The  principal  part 
which  remains  is  the  donjon  or  keep;  but  fragments  of  other 
buildings,  overgrown  with  ivy,  attest  that  it  had  been  once 
a  place  of  importance,  as  large  apparently  as  Artornish  or 
Dunstaffnage.  These  fragments  enclose  a  courtyard,  of  which 
the  keep  probably  formed  one  side;  the  entrance  being  by  a 
steep  ascent  from  the  neck  of  the  isthmus,  formerly  cut  across 
by  a  moat,  and  defended  doubtless  by  outworks  and  a  draw- 
bridge. Beneath  the  castle  stands  the  present  mansion  of  the 
family,  having  on  the  one  hand  Loch  Etive,  with  its  islands  and 
mountains,  on  the  other  two  romantic  eminences  tufted  with 


519 


NOTES 

copsewood.  There  are  other  accompaniments  suited  to  the 
scene;  in  particular,  a  huge  upright  pillar,  or  detached  fragment 
of  that  sort  of  rock  called  plum-pudding  stone,  upon  the  shore, 
about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  castle.  It  is  called  *  Clachna- 
cau,'  or  the  Dog's  Pillar,  because  Fingal  is  said  to  have  used  it 
as  a  stake  to  which  he  bound  his  celebrated  dog  Bran.  Others 
say,  that  when  the  Lord  of  the  Isles  came  upon  a  visit  to  the 
Lord  of  Lorn,  the  dogs  brought  for  his  sport  were  kept  beside 
this  pillar.  Upon  the  whole,  a  more  delightful  and  romantic 
spot  can  scarce  be  conceived;  and  it  receives  a  moral  interest 
from  the  considerations  attached  to  the  residence  of  a  family 
once  powerful  enough  to  confront  and  defeat  Robert  Bruce,  and 
now  sunk  into  the  shade  of  private  life.  It  is  at  present  pos- 
sessed by  Patrick  MacDougal,  Esq.,  the  lineal  and  undisputed 
representative  of  the  ancient  Lords  of  Lorn.  The  heir  of 
Dunolly  fell  lately  in  Spain,  fighting  under  the  Duke  of  Well- 
ington, —  a  death  well  becoming  his  ancestry. 

Note  75,  p.  250 

The  phenomenon  called  by  sailors '  Sea-Fire '  is  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  and  interesting  which  is  witnessed  in  the  Hebrides. 
At  times  the  ocean  appears  entirely  illuminated  around  the 
vessel,  and  a  long  train  of  lambent  coruscations  are  perpetually 
bursting  upon  the  sides  of  the  vessel,  or  pursuing  her  wake 
through  the  darkness.  These  phosphoric  appearances,  concern- 
ing the  origin  of  which  naturalists  are  not  agreed  in  opinion, 
seem  to  be  called  into  action  by  the  rapid  motion  of  the  ship 
through  the  water,  and  are  probably  owing  to  the  water  being 
saturated  with  fish-spawn,  or  other  animal  substances.  They 
remind  one  strongly  of  the  description  of  the  sea-snakes  in  Mr. 
Coleridge's  wild,  but  highly  poetical  ballad  of  the  Ancient 
Mariner :  — 

Beyond  the  shadow  of  the  ship 

I  watch'd  the  water-snakes, 
They  moved  in  tracks  of  shining  white. 
And  when  they  rear'd,  the  elvish  Hght 
Fell  off  in  hoary  flakes. 

520 


I 


NOTES 

Note  76,  p.  252 

The  fortress  of  a  Hebridean  chief  was  almost  always  on  the 
sea-shore,  for  the  facility  of  communication  which  the  ocean 
afforded.  Nothing  can  be  more  wild  than  the  situations  which 
they  chose,  and  the  devices  by  which  the  architects  endeavoured 
to  defend  them.  Narrow  stairs  and  arched  vaults  were  the 
usual  mode  of  access;  and  the  drawbridge  appears  at  Dunstaff- 
nage,  and  elsewhere,  to  have  fallen  from  the  gate  of  the  building 
to  the  top  of  such  a  staircase;  so  that  any  one  advancing  with 
hostile  purpose,  found  himself  in  a  state  of  exposed  and  pre- 
carious elevation,  with  a  gulf  between  him  and  the  object  of 
his  attack. 

These  fortresses  were  guarded  with  equal  care.  The  duty  of 
the  watch  devolved  chiefly  upon  an  ofificer  called  the  Cockman, 
who  had  the  charge  of  challenging  all  who  approached  the 
castle.  The  very  ancient  family  of  MacNiel  of  Barra  kept  this 
attendant  at  their  castle  about  a  hundred  years  ago.  Martin 
gives  the  following  account  of  the  difficulty  which  attended  his 
procuring  entrance  there:  'The  little  island  Kismul  lies  about  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  south  of  this  isle  (Barra) ;  it  is  the 
seat  of  Mackneil  of  Barra;  there  is  a  stone  wall  round  it  two 
stories  high,  reaching  the  sea;  and  within  the  wall  there  is  an 
old  tower  and  an  hall,  with  other  houses  about  it.  There  is  a 
little  magazine  in  the  tower,  to  which  no  stranger  has  access. 
I  saw  the  ofificer  called  the  Cockman,  and  an  old  cock  he  is; 
when  I  bid  him  ferry  me  over  the  water  to  the  island,  he  told 
me  that  he  was  but  an  inferior  ofificer,  his  business  being  to 
attend  in  the  tower;  but  if  (says  he)  the  constable,  who  then 
stood  on  the  wall,  will  give  you  access,  I  '11  ferry  you  over.  I 
desired  him  to  procure  me  the  constable's  permission,  and  I 
would  reward  him;  but  having  waited  some  hours  for  the  con- 
stable's answer,  and  not  receiving  any,  I  was  obliged  to  return 
without  seeing  this  famous  fort.  Mackneil  and  his  lady  being 
absent,  was  the  cause  of  this  difficulty,  and  of  my  not  seeing  the 
place.  I  was  told  some  weeks  after,  that  the  constable  was  very 

521 


NOTES 

apprehensive  of  some  design  I  might  have  in  viewing  the  fort, 
and  thereby  to  expose  it  to  the  conquest  of  a  foreign  power;  of 
which  I  supposed  there  was  no  great  cause  of  fear.' 

Note  77,  p.  260 

Sir  Egidius,  or  Giles  de  Argentine,  was  one  of  the  most 
accomplished  knights  of  the  period.  He  had  served  in  the  wars 
of  Henry  of  Luxemburg  with  such  high  reputation,  that  he 
was,  in  popular  estimation,  the  third  worthy  of  the  age.  Those 
to  whom  fame  assigned  precedence  over  him  were,  Henry  of 
Luxemburg  himself,  and  Robert  Bruce.  Argentine  had  warred 
in  Palestine,  encountered  thrice  with  the  Saracens,  and  had 
slain  two  antagonists  in  each  engagement:  —  an  easy  matter, 
he  said,  for  one  Christian  knight  to  slay  two  Pagan  dogs.  His 
death  corresponded  with  his  high  character.  With  Aymer  de 
Valence,  Earl  of  Pembroke,  he  was  appointed  to  attend  immedi- 
ately upon  the  person  of  Edward  II  at  Bannockburn.  When  the 
day  was  utterly  lost  they  forced  the  king  from  the  field.  De 
Argentine  saw  the  king  safe  from  immediate  danger,  and  then 
took  his  leave  of  him;  'God  be  with  you,  sir,'  he  said,  'it  is  not 
my  wont  to  fly.'  So  saying,  he  turned  his  horse,  cried  his  war- 
cry,  plunged  into  the  midst  of  the  combatants,  and  was  slain. 
Baston,  a  rhyming  monk  who  had  been  brought  by  Edward  to 
celebrate  his  expected  triumph,  and  who  was  compelled  by  the 
victors  to  compose  a  poem  on  his  defeat,  mentions  with  some 
feeling  the  death  of  Sir  Giles  de  Argentine:  — 

Nobilis  Argenten,  pugil  inclyte,  dulcis  Egidi, 
Vix  scieram  mentem  cum  te  succumbere  vidi. 

'The  first  line  mentions  the  three  chief  requisites  of  a  true 
knight,  noble  birth,  valour,  and  courteousness.  Few  Leonine 
couplets  can  be  produced  that  have  so  much  sentiment.  I  wish 
that  I  could  have  collected  more  ample  memorials  concerning  a 
character  altogether  different  from  modern  manners.  Sir  Giles 
d'Argentine  was  a  hero  of  romance  in  real  life.'  So  observes  the 
excellent  Lord  Hailes. 


522 


NOTES 

Note  78,  p.  261 

A  Hebridean  drinking-cup,  of  the  most  ancient  and  curious 
workmanship,  has  been  long  preserved  in  the  Castle  of  Dun- 
vegan,  in  Skye,  the  romantic  seat  of  MacLeod  of  MacLeod,  the 
chief  of  that  ancient  and  powerful  clan.  The  horn  of  Rorie 
More,  preserved  in  the  same  family,  and  recorded  by  Dr. 
Johnson,  is  not  to  be  compared  with  this  piece  of  antiquity, 
which  is  one  of  the  greatest  curiosities  in  Scotland.  The  follow- 
ing is  a  pretty  accurate  description  of  its  shape  and  dimensions, 
but  cannot,  I  fear,  be  perfectly  understood  without  a  drawing. 

This  very  curious  piece  of  antiquity  is  nine  inches  and  three 
quarters  in  inside  depth,  and  ten  and  a  half  in  height  on  the  out- 
side, the  extreme  measure  over  the  lips  being  four  inches  and  a 
half.  The  cup  is  divided  into  two  parts  by  a  wrought  ledge, 
beautifully  ornamented,  about  three-fourths  of  an  inch  in 
breadth.  Beneath  this  ledge  the  shape  of  the  cup  is  rounded  off, 
and  terminates  in  a  fiat  circle,  like  that  of  a  teacup;  four  short 
feet  support  the  whole.  Above  the  projecting  ledge  the  shape 
of  the  cup  is  nearly  square,  projecting  outward  at  the  brim.  The 
cup  is  made  of  wood  (oak  to  all  appearance),  but  most  curiously 
wrought  and  embossed  with  silver  work,  which  projects  from 
the  vessel.  There  are  a  number  of  regular  projecting  sockets, 
which  appear  to  have  been  set  with  stones;  two  or  three  of  them 
still  hold  pieces  of  coral,  the  rest  are  empty.  At  the  four  corners 
of  the  projecting  ledge,  or  cornice,  are  four  sockets,  much  larger, 
probably  for  pebbles  or  precious  stones.  The  workmanship  of 
the  silver  is  extremely  elegant,  and  appears  to  have  been  highly 
gilded.  The  ledge,  brim,  and  legs  of  the  cup,  are  of  silver.  The 
family  tradition  bears  that  it  was  the  property  of  Neil  Ghlune- 
dhu,  or  Black-knee.  But  who  this  Neil  was,  no  one  pretends  to 
say.  Around  the  edge  of  the  cup  is  a  legend,  perfectly  legible, 
in  the  Saxon  black-letter,  which  seems  to  run  thus:  — 

afo  :  laW  :  JUaicft  :  ||  iHiign  :  pncipi^  :  ©c  :  11 
$?r  :  Q^anae  :  SEicb  :  11  Hiabia  :  MQtiJntil :  11 
€t :  ;§>pat :  ©0  :  Jhu :  ©a  :  11  Cica  :  JUDra  Jpa :  || 
/Fecit :  ?tno  :  53i :  Jr :  93o  <©nili :  ©imi :  11 

523 


NOTES 

The  inscription  may  run  thus  at  length:  Ufo  Johanis  Mich 
Magni  Principis  de  Ilr  Manae  Vich  Liahia  Magryneil  et  sperat 
Domino  Ihesu  dari  clementiam  illorum  opera.  Fecit  Anno  Domini 
QQj  Onili  Oimi.  Which  may  run  in  English:  Ufo,  the  son  of 
John,  the  son  of  Magnus,  Prince  of  Man,  the  grandson  of  Liahia 
Macgryneil,  trusts  in  the  Lord  Jesus  that  their  works  (i.e.,  his 
own  and  those  of  his  ancestors)  will  obtain  mercy.  Oneil  Oimi 
made  this  in  the  year  of  God  nine  hundred  and  ninety-three. 

But  this  version  does  not  include  the  puzzling  letters  hr 
before  the  word  Manae.  Within  the  mouth  of  the  cup  the  let- 
ters SW»  (Jesus)  are  repeated  four  times.  From  this  and  other 
circumstances  it  would  seem  to  have  been  a  chalice.  This  cir- 
cumstance may  perhaps  account  for  the  use  of  the  two  Arabic 
numerals  93.  These  figures  were  introduced  by  Pope  Sylvester, 
A.D.  991,  and  might  be  used  in  a  vessel  formed  for  church  service 
so  early  as  993.  The  workmanship  of  the  whole  cup  is  extremely 
elegant,  and  resembles,  I  am  told,  antiques  of  the  same  nature 
preserved  in  Ireland. 

The  cups,  thus  elegantly  formed,  and  highly  valued,  were  by 
no  means  utensils  of  mere  show.  Martin  gives  the  following 
account  of  the  festivals  of  his  time,  and  I  have  heard  similar 
instances  of  brutality  in  the  Lowlands  at  no  very  distant  period. 

'The  manner  of  drinking  used  by  the  chief  men  of  the  Isles  is 
called  in  their  language  Streah,  i.e.,  a  Round;  for  the  company 
sat  in  a  circle,  the  cup-bearer  fill'd  the  drink  round  to  them,  and 
all  was  drank  out,  whatever  the  liquor  was,  whether  strong  or 
weak;  they  continued  drinking  sometimes  twenty-four,  some- 
times forty-eight  hours:  It  was  reckoned  a  piece  of  manhood  to 
drink  until  they  became  drunk,  and  there  were  two  men  with  a 
barrow  attending  punctually  on  such  occasions.  They  stood  at 
the  door  until  some  became  drunk,  and  they  carry 'd  them  upon 
the  barrow  to  bed,  and  returned  again  to  their  post  as  long  as 
any  continued  fresh,  and  so  carried  off  the  whole  company,  one 
by  one,  as  they  became  drunk.  Several  of  my  acquaintance  have 
beenwitnesses  to  thiscustomof  drinking,  but  it  is  now  abolished.' 

This  savage  custom  was  not  entirely  done  away  within  this 

524 


NOTES 

last  generation.  I  have  heard  of  a  gentleman  who  happened 
to  be  a  water-drinker,  and  was  permitted  to  abstain  from  the 
strong  potations  of  the  company.  The  bearers  carried  away  one 
man  after  another,  till  no  one  was  left  but  this  Scottish  Mirglip. 
They  then  came  to  do  him  the  same  good  ofhce,  which,  however, 
he  declined  as  unnecessary,  and  proposed  to  walk  to  his  bedroom. 
It  was  a  permission  he  could  not  obtain.  Never  such  a  thing 
had  happened,  they  said,  in  the  castle!  that  it  was  impossible 
but  he  must  require  their  assistance,  at  any  rate  he  must  submit 
to  receive  it;  and  carried  him  off  in  the  barrow  accordingly.  A 
classical  penalty  was  sometimes  imposed  on  those  who  baulked 
the  rules  of  good  fellowship  by  evading  their  share  of  the  ban- 
quet. The  same  author  continues:  — 

'Among  persons  of  distinction  it  was  reckoned  an  affront  put 
upon  any  company  to  broach  a  piece  of  wine,  ale,  or  aquavitae, 
and  not  to  see  it  all  drank  out  at  one  meeting.  If  any  man 
chance  to  go  out  from  the  company,  though  but  for  a  few  min- 
utes, he  is  obliged,  upon  his  return,  and  before  he  take  his  seat, 
to  make  an  apology  for  his  absence  in  rhyme ;  which  if  he  cannot 
perform,  he  is  liable  to  such  a  share  of  the  reckoning  as  the 
company  thinks  fit  to  impose:  which  custom  obtains  in  many 
places  still,  and  is  called  Bianchiz  Bard,  which,  in  their  language, 
signifies  the  poet's  congratulating  the  company.' 

Few  cups  were  better,  at  least  more  actively,  employed  in  the 
rude  hospitality'  of  the  period,  than  those  of  Dunvegan;  one  of 
which  we  have  just  described.  There  is  in  the  Leabhar  Dearg,  a 
song,  intimating  the  overflowing  gratitude  of  a  bard  of  Clan- 
Ronald,  after  the  exuberance  of  a  Hebridean  festival  at  the 
patriarchal  fortress  of  MacLeod.  The  translation  being  obvi- 
ously very  literal,  has  greatly  flattened,  as  I  am  informed,  the 
enthusiastic  gratitude  of  the  ancient  bard;  and  it  must  be 
owned  that  the  works  of  Homer  or  Virgil,  to  say  nothing  of 
MacVuirich,  might  have  suffered  by  their  transfusion  through 
such  a  medium.  It  is  pretty  plain,  that  when  the  tribute  of 
poetical  praise  was  bestowed,  the  horn  of  Rorie  More  had  not 
been  inactive. 


525 


NOTES 

Upon  Sir  Roderic  Mor  Macleod,  by  Niall  Mor  Mac  Vuirich. 

'The  six  nights  I  remained  in  the  Dunvegan,  it  was  not  a  show 
of  hospitality  I  met  with  there,  but  a  plentiful  feast  in  thy  fair 
hall  among  thy  numerous  host  of  heroes. 

'The  family  placed  all  around  under  the  protection  of  their 
great  chief,  raised  by  his  prosperity  and  respect  for  his  warlike 
feats,  now  enjoying  the  company  of  his  friends  at  the  feast,  — 
Amidst  the  sound  of  harps,  overflowing  cups,  and  happy  youth 
unaccustomed  to  guile,  or  feud,  partaking  of  the  generous  fare 
by  a  flaming  fire. 

'Mighty  Chief,  liberal  to  all  in  your  princely  mansion,  filled 
with  your  numerous  warlike  host,  whose  generous  wine  would 
overcome  the  hardiest  heroes,  yet  we  continued  to  enjoy  the 
feast,  so  happy  our  host,  so  generous  our  fare.'  (Translated  by 
D.  Macintosh.) 

It  would  be  unpardonable  in  a  modern  bard,  who  has  experi- 
enced the  hospitality  of  Dunvegan  Castle  in  the  present  day,  to 
omit  paying  his  own  tribute  of  gratitude  for  a  reception  more 
elegant  indeed,  but  not  less  kindly  sincere,  than  Sir  Roderick 
More  himself  could  have  aflforded.  But  Johnson  has  already 
described  a  similar  scene  in  the  same  ancient  patriarchal  resi- 
dence of  the  Lords  of  MacLeod:  'Whatever  is  imaged  in  the 
wildest  tales,  if  giants,  dragons,  and  enchantment  be  excepted, 
would  be  felt  by  him,  who,  wandering  in  the  mountains  without 
a  guide,  or  upon  the  sea  without  a  pilot,  should  be  carried, 
amidst  his  terror  and  uncertainty,  to  the  hospitality  and  ele- 
gance of  Raasay  or  Dunvegan.' 

Note  79,  p.  263 

The  Sewer,  to  whom,  rather  than  the  Seneschal,  the  office  of 
arranging  the  guests  of  an  island  chief  appertained,  was  an 
officer  of  importance  in  the  family  of  a  Hebridean  chief.  '  Every 
family  had  commonly  two  stewards,  which,  in  their  language, 
were  called  Marischal  Tach:  the  first  of  these  served  always  at 

526 


NOTES 

home,  and  was  obliged  to  be  versed  in  the  pedigree  of  all  the 
tribes  in  the  isles,  and  in  the  highlands  of  Scotland ;  for  it  was 
his  province  to  assign  every  man  at  table  his  seat  according  to 
his  quality;  and  this  was  done  without  one  word  speaking,  only 
by  drawing  a  score  with  a  white  rod,  which  this  Marischal  had 
in  his  hand,  before  the  person  who  was  bid  by  him  to  sit  down: 
and  this  was  necessary  to  prevent  disorder  and  contention ;  and 
though  the  Marischal  might  sometimes  be  mistaken,  the  master 
of  the  family  incurred  no  censure  by  such  an  escape;  but  this 
custom  has  been  laid  aside  of  late.  They  had  also  cup-bearers, 
who  always  filled  and  carried  the  cup  round  the  company,  and 
he  himself  always  drank  off  the  first  draught.  They  had  like- 
wise purse-masters,  who  kept  their  money.  Both  these  officers 
had  an  hereditary  right  to  their  office  in  writing,  and  each  of 
them  had  a  town  and  land  for  his  service :  some  of  those  rights 
I  have  seen  fairly  written  on  good  parchment.'  (Martin's 
Western  Isles.) 

Note  8o,  p.  265 

It  must  be  remembered  by  all  who  have  read  the  Scottish 
history,  that  after  he  had  slain  Comyn  at  Dumfries,  and 
asserted  his  right  to  the  Scottish  crown,  Robert  Bruce  was 
reduced  to  the  greatest  extremity  by  the  English  and  their 
adherents.  He  was  crowned  at  Scone  by  the  general  consent 
of  the  Scottish  barons,  but  his  authority  endured  but  a  short 
time.  According  to  the  phrase  said  to  have  been  used  by  his 
wife,  he  was  for  that  year  'a  summer  king,  but  not  a  winter  one.' 
On  the  29th  March,  1306,  he  was  crowned  king  at  Scone.  Upon 
the  19th  June,  in  the  same  year,  he  was  totally  defeated  at 
Methven,  near  Perth;  and  his  most  important  adherents,  with 
few  exceptions,  were  either  executed  or  compelled  to  embrace 
the  English  interest,  for  safety  of  their  lives  and  fortunes.  After 
this  disaster,  his  life  was  that  of  an  outlaw,  rather  than  a  candi- 
date for  monarchy.  He  separated  himself  from  the  females  of 
his  retinue,  whom  he  sent  for  safety  to  the  Castle  of  Kildrummie, 
in  Aberdeenshire,  where  they  afterward  became  captives  to 

527 


NOTES 

England.  From  Aberdeenshire,  Bruce  retreated  to  the  moun- 
tainous parts  of  Breadalbane,  and  approached  the  borders  of 
Argyleshire.  There,  as  mentioned  in  Note  74,  and  more  fully 
in  Note  81,  he  was  defeated  by  the  Lord  of  Lorn,  who  had 
assumed  arms  against  him  in  revenge  of  the  death  of  his  relative, 
John  the  Red  Comyn.  Escaped  from  this  peril,  Bruce,  with  his 
few  attendants,  subsisted  by  hunting  and  fishing,  until  the 
weather  compelled  them  to  seek  better  sustenance  and  shelter 
than  the  Highland  mountains  afforded.  With  great  difficulty 
they  crossed,  from  Rowardennan  probably,  to  the  western 
banks  of  Lochlomond,  partly  in  a  miserable  boat,  and  partly  by 
swimming.  The  valiant  and  loyal  Earl  of  Lennox,  to  whose 
territories  they  had  now  found  their  way,  welcomed  them  with 
tears,  but  was  unable  to  assist  them  to  make  an  effectual  head. 
The  Lord  of  the  Isles,  then  in  possession  of  great  part  of  Cantyre, 
received  the  fugitive  monarch  and  future  restorer  of  his  coun- 
try's independence,  in  his  Castle  of  Dunnaverty,  in  that  district. 
But  treason,  says  Barbour,  was  so  general,  that  the  King  durst 
not  abide  there.  Accordingly,  with  the  remnant  of  his  followers, 
Bruce  embarked  for  Rath-Erin,  or  Rachrine,  the  Recina  of 
Ptolemy,  a  small  island,  lying  almost  opposite  to  the  shores  of 
Ballycastle,  on  the  coast  of  Ireland.  The  islanders  at  first  fled 
from  their  new  and  armed  guests,  but  upon  some  explanation 
submitted  themselves  to  Bruce's  sovereignty.  He  resided  among 
them  until'the  approach  of  spring,  [1306,]  when  he  again  returned 
to  Scotland,  with  the  desperate  resolution  to  reconquer  his 
kingdom,  or  perish  in  the  attempt.  The  progress  of  his  success, 
from  its  commencement  to  its  completion,  forms  the  brightest 
period  in  Scottish  history. 

Note  81,  p.  266 

It  has  been  generally  mentioned  in  the  preceding  notes,  that 
Robert  Bruce,  after  his  defeat  at  Methven,  being  hard  pressed 
by  the  English,  endeavoured,  with  the  dispirited  remnant  of  his 
followers,  to  escape  from  Breadalbane  and  the  mountains  of 

528 


NOTES 

Perthshire  into  the  Argyleshire  Highlands.  But  he  was  encoun- 
tered and  repulsed,  after  a  very  severe  engagement,  by  the  Lord 
of  Lorn.  Bruce's  personal  strength  and  courage  were  never  dis- 
played to  greater  advantage  than  in  this  conflict.  There  is  a 
tradition  in  the  family  of  the  MacDougals  of  Lorn,  that  their 
chieftain  engaged  in  personal  battle  with  Bruce  himself,  while 
the  latter  was  employed  in  protecting  the  retreat  of  his  men ;  that 
MacDougal  was  struck  down  by  the  king,  whose  strength  of 
body  was  equal  to  his  vigour  of  mind,  and  would  have  been  slain 
on  the  spot,  had  not  two  of  Lorn's  vassals,  a  father  and  son, 
whom  tradition  terms  MacKeoch,  rescued  him,  by  seizing  the 
mantle  of  the  monarch,  and  dragging  him  from  above  his 
adversary.  Bruce  rid  himself  of  these  foes  by  two  blows  of  his 
redoubted  battle-axe,  but  was  so  closely  pressed  by  the  other 
followers  of  Lorn,  that  he  was  forced  to  abandon  the  mantle, 
and  broach  which  fastened  it,  clasped  in  the  dying  grasp  of  the 
MacKeochs.  A  studded  broach,  said  to  have  been  that  which 
King  Robert  lost  upon  this  occasion,  was  long  preserved  in  the 
family  of  MacDougal,  and  was  lost  in  a  fire  which  consumed  their 
temporary'  residence. 

The  metrical  history  of  Barbour  throws  an  air  of  credibility 
upon  the  tradition,  although  it  does  not  entirely  coincide  either 
in  the  names  or  number  of  the  vassals  by  whom  Bruce  was 
assailed,  and  makes  no  mention  of  the  personal  danger  of  Lorn, 
or  of  the  loss  of  Bruce's  mantle.  The  last  circumstance,  indeed, 
might  be  warrantably  omitted. 

According  to  Barbour,  the  King,  with  his  handful  of  follow- 
ers, not  amounting  probably  to  three  hundred  men,  encountered 
Lorn  with  about  a  thousand  Argyleshire  men,  in  Glen-Douchart, 
at  the  head  of  Breadalbane,  near  Teyndrum.  The  place  of 
action  is  still  called  Dairy,  or  the  King's  Field.  The  field  of 
battle  was  unfavourable  to  Bruce's  adherents,  who  were  chiefly 
men-at-arms.  Many  of  the  horses  were  slain  by  the  long  pole- 
axes,  of  which  the  Argyleshire  Scottish  had  learned  the  use  from 
the  Norwegians.  At  length  Bruce  commanded  a  retreat  up  a 
narrow  and  difficult  pass,  he  himself  bringing  up  the  rear,  and 

49  529 


NOTES 

repeatedly  turning  and  driving  back  the  more  venturous 
assailants.  Lorn,  observing  the  skill  and  valour  used  by  his 
enemy  in  protecting  the  retreat  of  his  followers,  'Methinks, 
Murthokson,'  said  he,  addressing  one  of  his  followers,  'he 
resembles  Gol  Mak-morn,  protecting  his  followers  from  Fingal.' 
'A  most  unworthy  comparison,'  observes  the  Archdeacon  of 
Aberdeen,  unsuspicious  of  the  future  fame  of  these  names;  '  he 
might  with  more  propriety  have  compared  the  King  to  Sir 
Gaudefer  de  Layrs,  protecting  the  foragers  of  Gadyrs  against 
the  attacks  of  Alexander.'^  Two  brothers,  the  strongest  among 
Lorn's  followers,  whose  names  Barbour  calls  Mackyn-Drosser 
(interpreted  Durward,  or  Porterson),  resolved  to  rid  their  chief 
of  this  formidable  foe.  A  third  person  (perhaps  the  MacKeoch 
of  the  family  tradition)  associated  himself  with  them  for  this 
purpose.  They  watched  their  opportunity  until  Bruce's  party 
had  entered  a  pass  between  a  lake  (Loch  Dochart  probably) 
and  a  precipice,  where  the  King,  who  was  the  last  of  the  party, 
had  scarce  room  to  manage  his  steed.  Here  his  three  foes  sprung 
upon  him  at  once.  One  seized  his  bridle,  but  received  a  wound 
which  hewed  off  his  arm;  a  second  grasped  Bruce  by  the  stirrup 
and  leg,  and  endeavoured  to  dismount  him,  but  the  King,  put- 
ting spurs  to  his  horse,  threw  him  down,  still  holding  by  the 
stirrup.  The  third,  taking  advantage  of  an  acclivity,  sprung  up 
behind  him  upon  his  horse.  Bruce,  however,  whose  personal 
strength  is  uniformly  mentioned  as  exceeding  that  of  most  men, 
extricated  himself  from  his  grasp,  threw  him  to  the  ground,  and 
cleft  his  skull  with  his  sword.  By  similar  exertion  he  drew  the 
stirrup  from  his  grasp  whom  he  had  overthrown,  and  killed  him 
also  with  his  sword  as  he  lay  among  the  horse's  feet.  The  story 
seems  romantic,  but  this  was  the  age  of  romantic  exploit;  and  it 
must  be  remembered  that  Bruce  was  armed  cap-a-pie,  and  the 

*  *  This  is  a  very  curious  passage,  and  has  been  often  quoted  in  the  Ossianic 
controversy.  That  it  refers  to  ancient  Celtic  tradition,  there  can  be  no  doubt,  and 
as  httle  that  it  refers  to  no  incident  in  the  poems  published  by  Mr.  Macpherson 
as  from  the  Gaelic.  The  hero  of  romance,  whom  Barbour  thinks  a  more  proper 
prototype  for  the  Bruce,  occurs  in  the  romance  of  Alexander,  of  which  there  is  a 
unique  translation  into  Scottish  verse,  in  the  library  of  the  Honourable  Mr.  Maule 
of  Panmure.'   (See  Weber's  Romances,  i,  Appendi.^  to  Introduction,  Ixxiii.) 


NOTES 

assailants  were  half-clad  mountaineers.  Barbour  adds  the 
following  circumstance,  highly  characteristic  of  the  sentiments 
of  chivalry.  MacNaughton,  a  Baron  of  Cowal,  pointed  out  to 
the  Lord  of  Lorn  the  deeds  of  valour  which  Bruce  performed  in 
this  memorable  retreat,  with  the  highest  expressions  of  admira- 
tion. '  It  seems  to  give  thee  pleasure,'  said  Lorn,  *  that  he  makes 
such  havoc  among  our  friends.'  'Not  so,  by  my  faith,'  replied 
MacNaughton;  'but  be  he  friend  or  foe  who  achieves  high  deeds 
of  chivalry,  men  should  bear  faithful  witness  to  his  valour;  and 
never  have  I  heard  of  one,  who,  by  his  knightly  feats,  has  extri- 
cated himself  from  such  dangers  as  have  this  day  surrounded 
Bruce.' 

Note  82,  p.  266 

Great  art  and  expense  was  bestowed  upon  the  fibula,  or  broach, 
which  secured  the  plaid,  when  the  wearer  was  a  person  of  import- 
ance. Martin  mentions  having  seen  a  silver  broach  of  a  hun- 
dred marks  value.  *  It  was  broad  as  any  ordinary  pewter  plate, 
the  whole  curiously  engraven  with  various  animals,  etc.  There 
was  a  lesser  buckle,  which  was  wore  in  the  middle  of  the  larger, 
and  above  two  ounces  weight;  it  had  in  the  centre  a  large  piece 
of  cr>'stal,  or  some  finer  stone,  and  this  was  set  all  round  with 
several  finer  stones  of  a  lesser  size.'  {Western  Islands.)  Pennant 
has  given  an  engraving  of  such  a  broach  as  Martin  describes, 
and  the  workmanship  of  which  is  very  elegant.  It  is  said  to  have 
belonged  to  the  family  of  Lochbuy.  (See  Pennant's  Tour,  iii,  14.) 

Note  83,  p.  268 

The  gallant  Sir  James,  called  the  Good  Lord  Douglas,  the 
most  faithful  and  valiant  of  Bruce's  adherents,  was  wounded  at 
the  battle  of  Dairy.  Sir  Nigel,  or  Niel  Campbell,  was  also  in 
that  unfortunate  skirmish.  He  married  Marjorie,  sister  to 
Robert  Bruce,  and  was  among  his  most  faithful  followers.  In  a 
manuscript  account  of  the  house  of  Argyle,  supplied,  it  would 
seem,  as  materials  for  Archbishop  Spottiswoode's  History  of 

531 


NOTES 

the  Church  of  Scotland,  I  find  the  following  passage  concerning 
Sir  Niel  Campbell :  '  Moreover,  when  all  the  nobles  in  Scotland 
had  left  King  Robert  after  his  hard  success,  yet  this  noble 
knight  was  most  faithful,  and  shrinked  not,  as  it  is  to  be  seen  in 
an  indenture  bearing  these  words:  "  Memorandum  quod  cum  ab 
incarnatione  Domini  ijo8  conventum  fuit  et  concordatum  inter 
nobiles  viros  Dominum  Alexandrum  de  Seatoun  militem  et 
Domi'num  Gilbertum  de  Haye  militem  et  Dominum  Nigellum 
Campbell  militem  apud  monasterium  de  Cambuskenneth  g° 
Septembris  qui  tacta  sancta  eucharista,  magnoque  juramento 
facto,  jurarunt  se  debere  libertatem  regni  et  Robertum  nuper 
regem  coronatum  contra  omnes  mortales  Francos  Anglos  Scotos 
defendere  usque  ad  ultimum  terminum  vitae  ipsorum."  Their 
sealles  are  appended  to  the  indenture  in  greene  wax,  togithir 
with  the  seal  of  Gulfrid,  Abbot  of  Cambuskenneth.' 

Note  84,  p.  268 

Every  reader  must  recollect  that  the  proximate  cause  of 
Bruce's  asserting  his  right  to  the  crown  of  Scotland,  was  the 
death  of  John,  called  the  Red  Comyn.  The  causes  of  this  act  of 
violence,  equally  extraordinary  from  the  high  rank  both  of  the 
perpetrator  and  sufferer,  and  from  the  place  where  the  slaughter 
was  committed,  are  variously  related  by  the  Scottish  and  Eng- 
lish historians,  and  cannot  now  be  ascertained.  The  fact  that 
they  met  at  the  high  altar  of  the  Minorites,  or  Greyfriars  Church 
in  Dumfries,  that  their  difference  broke  out  into  high  and  insult- 
ing language,  and  that  Bruce  drew  his  dagger  and  stabbed 
Comyn,  is  certain.  Rushing  to  the  door  of  the  church,  Bruce 
met  two  powerful  barons,  Kirkpatrick  of  Closeburn,  and  James 
de  Lindsay,  who  eagerly  asked  him  what  tidings?  '  Bad  tidings,' 
answered  Bruce,  '  I  doubt  I  have  slain  Comyn.'  '  Doubtest 
thou?'  said  Kirkpatrick;  *I  make  sicker'  (i.e.,  sure).  With 
these  words,  he  and  Lindsay  rushed  into  the  church,  and 
despatched  the  wounded  Comyn.  The  Kirkpatricks  of  Close- 
burn  assumed,  in  memory  of  this  deed,  a  hand  holding  a  dagger, 

532 


NOTES 

with  the  memorable  words, '  I  make  sicker.'  Some  doubt  having 
been  started  by  the  late  Lord  Hailes  as  to  the  identity  of  the 
Kirkpatrick  who  completed  this  day's  work  with  Sir  Roger, 
then  representative  of  the  ancient  family  of  Closeburn,  my  kind 
and  ingenious  friend,  Mr.  Charles  Kirkpatricke  Sharpe,  has 
furnished  me  with  the  following  memorandum,  which  appears 
to  fix  the  deed  with  his  ancestor:  — 

'The  circumstances  of  the  Regent  Cummin's  murder,  from 
which  the  family  of  Kirkpatrick,  in  Nithsdale,  is  said  to  have 
derived  its  crest  and  motto,  are  well  known  to  all  conversant 
with  Scottish  history;  but  Lord  Hailes  has  started  a  doubt  as  to 
the  authenticity  of  this  tradition,  when  recording  the  murder  of 
Roger  Kirkpatrick,  in  his  own  Castle  of  Caerlaverock,  by  Sir 
James  Lindsay.  "Fordun,"  says  his  Lordship,  "remarks  that 
Lindsay  and  Kirkpatrick  were  the  heirs  of  the  two  men  who 
accompanied  Robert  Brus  at  the  fatal  conference  with  Comyn. 
If  Fordun  was  rightly  informed  as  to  this  particular,  an  argu- 
ment arises,  in  support  of  a  notion  which  I  have  long  entertained, 
that  the  person  who  struck  his  dagger  in  Comyn's  heart,  was 
not  the  representative  of  the  honourable  family  of  Kirkpatrick 
in  Nithsdale.  Roger  de  K.  was  made  prisoner  at  the  battle  of 
Durham,  in  1346.  Roger  de  Kirkpatrick  was  alive  on  the  6th 
of  August,  1357;  for,  on  that  day,  Humphry,  the  son  and  heir 
of  Roger  de  K.,  is  proposed  as  one  of  the  young  gentlemen  who 
were  to  be  hostages  for  David  Bruce.  Roger  de  K.  Miles  was 
present  at  the  Parliament  held  at  Edinburgh,  25th  September, 
1357,  and  he  is  mentioned  as  alive  3d  October,  1357,  (Fcedera;) 
it  follows,  of  necessary  consequence,  that  Roger  de  K.,  murdered 
in  June,  1357,  must  have  been  a  different  person."  {Annals  of 
Scotland,  11,  242.) 

'To  this  it  may  be  answered,  that  at  the  period  of  the  regent's 
murder,  there  were  only  two  families  of  the  name  of  Kirkpatrick 
(nearly  allied  to  each  other)  in  existence  —  Stephen  Kirk- 
patrick, styled  in  the  Chartulary  of  Kelso  (1278)  Dominus  viUce 
de  Closeburn,  Filius  et  hceres  Domini  Ade  de  Kirkpatrick,  Mililis 
(whose  father,  Ivone  de  Kirkpatrick,  witnesses  a  charter  of 

533 


NOTES 

Robert  Brus,  Lord  of  Annandale,  before  the  year  1141),  had 
two  sons,  Sir  Roger,  who  carried  on  the  line  of  Closeburn,  and 
Duncan,  who  married  Isobel,  daughter  and  heiress  of  Sir  David 
Torthorwald  of  that  Ilk;  they  had  a  charter  of  the  lands  of 
Torthorwald  from  King  Robert  Brus,  dated  loth  August,  the 
year  being  omitted  —  Umphray,  the  son  of  Duncan  and  Isobel, 
got  a  charter  of  Torthorwald  from  the  king,  i6th  July,  1322  — 
his  son,  Roger  of  Torthorwald,  got  a  charter  from  John  the 
Grahame,  son  of  Sir  John  Grahame  of  Mosskessen,  of  an  annual 
rent  of  40  shillings,  out  of  the  lands  of  Overdryft,  1355  —  his 
son,  William  Kirkpatrick,  grants  a  charter  to  John  of  Garroch,  of 
the  twa  merk  land  of  Glengip  and  Garvellgill,  within  the  tene- 
ment of  Wamphray,  22d  April,  1372.  From  this,  it  appears  that 
the  Torthorwald  branch  was  not  concerned  in  the  aflfair  of 
Comyn's  murder,  and  the  inflictions  of  Providence  which 
ensued:  Duncan  Kirkpatrick,  if  we  are  to  believe  the  Blind 
Minstrel,  was  the  firm  friend  of  Wallace,  to  whom  he  was 
related ;  — 

Ane  Kyrk  Patrick,  that  cruel  was  and  keyne. 
In  Esdaill  vvod  that  half  yer  he  had  beyne; 
With  Ingliss  men  he  couth  nocht  weyll  accord. 
Off  Torthorowald  he  Barron  was  and  Lord, 
Off  kyn  he  was,  and  Wallace  modyr  ner;  etc. 

Book  V,  V.  920. 

But  this  Baron  seems  to  have  had  no  share  in  the  adventures  of 
King  Robert;  the  crest  of  his. family,  as  it  still  remains  on  a 
carved  stone  built  into  a  cottage  wall,  in  the  village  of  Torthor- 
wald, bears  some  resemblance,  says  Grose,  to  a  rose. 

*  Universal  tradition,  and  all  our  later  historians,  have  attrib- 
uted the  regent's  death-blow  to  Sir  Roger  K.  of  Closeburn.  The 
author  of  the  MS.  History  of  the  Presbytery  of  Penpont,  in  the 
Advocates'  Library,  afhrms.  that  the  crest  and  motto  were  given 
by  the  king  on  that  occasion;  and  proceeds  to  relate  some  cir- 
cumstances respecting  a  grant  to  a  cottager  and  his  wife  in  the 
vicinity  of  Closeburn  Castle,  which  are  certainly  authentic,  and 
strongly  vouch  for  the  truth  of  the  other  report.  "The  steep 
hill"  (says  he),  "called  the  Dune  of  Tynron,  of  a  considerable 

534 


NOTES 

height,  upon  the  top  of  which  there  hath  been  some  habitation 
or  fort.  There  have  been  in  ancient  times,  on  all  hands  of  it, 
very  thick  woods,  and  great  about  that  place,  which  made  it 
the  more  inaccessible,  into  which  K.  Ro.  Bruce  is  said  to  have 
been  conducted  by  Roger  Kirkpatrick  of  Closeburn,  after  they 
had  killed  the  Cumin  at  Dumfriess,  which  is  nine  miles  from  this 
place,  whereabout  it  is  probable  that  he  did  abide  for  some  time 
hereafter;  and  it  is  reported,  that  during  his  abode  there,  he 
did  often  divert  to  a  poor  man's  cottage,  named  Brownrig, 
situate  in  a  small  parcel  of  stoney  ground,  incompassed  with 
thick  woods,  where  he  was  content  sometimes  with  such  mean 
accommodation  as  the  place  could  afford.  The  poor  man's  wife 
being  advised  to  petition  the  king  for  somewhat,  was  so  modest 
in  her  desires,  that  she  sought  no  more  but  security  for  the  croft 
in  her  husband's  possession,  and  a  liberty  of  pasturage  for  a 
very  few  cattle  of  different  kinds  on  the  hill,  and  the  rest  of  the 
bounds.  Of  which  priviledge  that  ancient  family,  by  the  injury 
of  time,  hath  a  long  time  been,  and  is,  deprived :  but  the  croft 
continues  in  the  possession  of  the  heirs  and  successours  lineally 
descended  of  this  Brownrig  and  his  wife;  so  that  this  family, 
being  more  ancient  than  rich,  doth  yet  continue  in  the  name, 
and,  as  they  say,  retains  the  old  charter." '  (MS.  History  of  the 
Presbytery  of  Penpont,  in  the  Advocates'  Library  of  Edinburgh.) 

Note  85,  p.  268 

These  knights  are  enumerated  by  Barbour  among  the  small 
number  of  Bruce's  adherents,  who  remained  in  arms  with  him 
after  the  battle  of  Methven. 

With  him  was  a  bold  baron, 
Schyr  William  the  Barouadoun; 


Schyr  Gilbert  de  la  Haye  Eilsua. 


There  were  more  than  one  of  the  noble  family  of  Hay  engaged 
in  Bruce's  cause;  but  the  principal  was  Gilbert  de  la  Haye,  Lord 
of  Errol,  a  stanch  adherent  to  King  Robert's  interest,  and  whom 

535 


NOTES 

he  rewarded  by  creating  him  hereditary  Lord  High  Constable  of 
Scotland,  a  title  which  he  used  i6th  March,  1308,  where,  in  a 
letter  from  the  peers  of  Scotland  to  Philip  the  Fair  of  France,  he 
is  designed  Gilbertus  de  Hay  Constabularius  Scotice.  He  was  slain 
at  the  battle  of  Halidoun-Hill.  Hugh  de  la  Haye,  his  brother, 
was  made  prisoner  at  the  battle  of  Methven. 

Note  86,  p.  269 

The  character  of  the  Highland  bards,  however  high  in  an 
earlier  period  of  society,  seems  soon  to  have  degenerated.  The 
Irish  affirm,  that  in  their  kindred  tribes  severe  laws  became 
necessary  to  restrain  their  avarice.  In  the  Highlands  they  seem 
gradually  to  have  sunk  into  contempt,  as  well  as  the  orators,  or 
men  of  speech,  with  whose  office  that  of  family  poet  was  often 
united.  'The  orators,  in  their  language  called  Isdane,  were  in 
high  esteem  both  in  these  islands  and  the  continent;  until  within 
these  forty  years,  they  sat  always  among  the  nobles  and  chiefs 
of  families  in  the  streah,  or  circle.  Their  houses  and  little  villages 
were  sanctuaries,  as  well  as  churches,  and  they  took  place  before 
doctors  of  physick.  The  orators,  after  the  Druids  were  extinct, 
were  brought  in  to  preserve  the  genealogy  of  families,  and  to 
repeat  the  same  at  every  succession  of  chiefs;  and  upon  the 
occasion  of  marriages  and  births,  they  made  epithalamiums  and 
panegyricks,  which  the  poet  or  bard  pronounced.  The  orators, 
by  the  force  of  their  eloquence,  had  a  powerful  ascendant  over 
the  greatest  men  in  their  time;  for  if  any  orator  did  but  ask  the 
habit,  arms,  horse,  or  any  other  thing  belonging  to  the  greatest 
man  in  these  islands,  it  was  readily  granted  them,  sometimes  out 
of  respect,  and  sometimes  for  fear  of  being  exclaimed  against 
by  a  satyre,  which,  in  those  days,  was  reckoned  a  great  dishon- 
our. But  these  gentlemen  becoming  insolent,  lost  ever  since 
both  the  profit  and  esteem  which  was  formerly  due  to  their  char- 
acter; for  neither  their  panegyricks  nor  satyres  are  regarded  to 
what  they  have  been,  and  they  are  now  allowed  but  a  small 
salary.   I  must  not  omit  to  relate  their  way  of  study,  which  is 

536 


NOTES 

very  singular:  They  shut  their  doors  and  windows  for  a  day's 
time,  and  lie  on  their  backs,  with  a  stone  upon  their  belly,  and 
plads  about  their  heads,  and  their  eyes  being  covered,  they 
pump  their  brains  for  rhetorical  encomium  or  panegyrick;  and 
indeed  they  furnish  such  a  style  from  this  dark  cell  as  is  under- 
stood by  very  few;  and  if  they  purchase  a  couple  of  horses  as 
the  reward  of  their  meditation,  they  think  they  have  done  a 
great  matter.  The  poet,  or  bard,  had  a  title  to  the  bridegroom's 
upper  garb,  that  is,  the  plad  and  bonnet;  but  now  he  is  satisfyed 
with  what  the  bridegroom  pleases  to  give  him  on  such  occasions.' 
(Martin's  Western  Isles.) 

Note  87,  p.  278 

It  was  anciently  customary  in  the  Highlands  to  bring  the 
bride  to  the  house  of  the  husband.  Nay,  in  some  cases  the  com- 
plaisance was  stretched  so  far,  she  remained  there  upon  trial 
for  a  twelvemonth;  and  the  bridegroom,  even  after  this  period 
of  cohabitation,  retained  an  option  of  refusing  to  fulfil  his  engage- 
ment. It  is  said  that  a  desperate  feud  ensued  between  the  clans 
of  MacDonald  of  Sleate  and  MacLeod,  owing  to  the  former 
chief  having  availed  himself  of  this  license  to  send  back  to 
Dunvegan  a  sister,  or  daughter  of  the  latter.  MacLeod,  resent- 
ing the  indignity,  observed,  that  since  there  was  no  wedding 
bonfire,  there  should  be  one  to  solemnize  the  divorce.  Accord- 
ingly, he  burned  and  laid  waste  the  territories  of  MacDonald, 
who  retaliated,  and  a  deadly  feud,  with  all  its  accompaniments, 
took  place  in  form. 

Note  88,  p.  279. 

Stow  gives  the  following  curious  account  of  the  trial  and 
execution  of  this  celebrated  patriot:  'William  Wallace,  who  had 
oft-times  set  Scotland  in  great  trouble,  was  taken  and  brought 
to  London,  with  great  numbers  of  men  and  women  wondering 
upon  him.  He  was  lodged  in  the  house  of  William  Delect,  a 
citizen  of  London,  in  Fenchurch  Street.  On  the  morrow,  being 
the  eve  of  St.  Bartholomew,  he  was  brought  on  horseback  to 

537 


NOTES 

Westminster.  John  Legrave  and  Geffrey,  knights,  the  mayor, 
sheriffs,  and  aldermen  of  London,  and  many  others,  both  on 
horseback  and  on  foot,  accompanying  him;  and  in  the  great 
hall  at  Westminster,  he  being  placed  on  the  south  bench, 
crowned  with  laurel,  for  that  he  had  said  in  times  past  that  he 
ought  to  bear  a  crown  in  that  hall,  as  it  was  commonly  reported; 
and  being  appeached  for  a  traitor  by  Sir  Peter  Malorie,  the 
king's  justice,  he  answered,  that  he  was  never  traitor  to  the 
King  of  England;  but  for  other  things  whereof  he  was  accused 
he  confessed  them ;  and  was  after  headed  and  quartered.'  (Stow, 
Chronicles,  p.  209.)  There  is  something  singularly  doubtful 
about  the  mode  in  which  Wallace  was  taken.  That  he  was 
betrayed  to  the  English  is  indubitable;  and  popular  fame 
charges  Sir  John  Menteith  with  the  indelible  infamy.  'Accursed,' 
says  Arnold  Blair,  'be  the  day  of  nativity  of  John  de  Menteith, 
and  may  his  name  be  struck  out  of  the  book  of  life.'  But  John 
de  Menteith  was  all  along  a  zealous  favourer  of  the  English 
interest,  and  was  governor  of  Dumbarton  Castle  by  commission 
from  Edward  the  First;  and  therefore,  as  the  accurate  Lord 
Hailes  has  observed,  could  not  be  the  friend  and  confidant  of 
Wallace,  as  tradition  states  him  to  be.  The  truth  seems  to  be, 
that  Menteith,  thoroughly  engaged  in  the  English  interest, 
pursued  Wallace  closely,  and  made  him  prisoner  through  the 
treachery  of  an  attendant,  whom  Peter  Langtoft  calls  Jack 
Short. 

William  Waleis  is  nomen  that  master  was  of  theves, 

Tiding  to  the  king  is  comen  that  robbery  mischeives. 

Sir  John  of  Menetest  sued  William  so  nigh. 

He  tok  him  when  he  ween'd  least,  on  night,  his  leman  him  by, 

That  was  through  treason  of  Jack  Short,  his  man, 

He  was  the  encheson  that  Sir  John  so  him  ran. 

Jack's  brother  had  he  slain,  the  Walleis  that  is  said. 

The  more  Jack  was  fain  to  do  William  that  braid. 

From  this  it  would  appear  that  the  infamy  of  seizing  Wallace, 
must  rest  between  a  degenerate  Scottish  nobleman,  the  vassal 
of  England,  and  a  domestic,  the  obscure  agent  of  his  treachery; 
between  Sir  John  Menteith,  son  of  Walter,  Earl  of  Menteith, 
and  the  traitor  Jack  Short. 


NOTES 

Note  89,  p.  279 

When  these  lines  were  written,  the  author  was  remote  from 
the  means  of  correcting  his  indistinct  recollection  concerning 
the  individual  fate  of  Bruce's  followers,  after  the  battle  of 
Methven.  Hugh  de  la  Haye,  and  Thomas  Somerville,  of  Lintoun 
and  Cowdally,  ancestor  of  Lord  Somerville,  were  both  made 
prisoners  at  that  defeat,  but  neither  was  executed. 

Sir  Nigel  Bruce  was  the  younger  brother  of  Robert,  to  whom 
he  committed  the  charge  of  his  wife  and  daughter,  Marjorie, 
and  the  defense  of  his  strong  castle  of  Kildrummie,  near  the 
head  of  the  Don,  in  Aberdeenshire.  Kildrummie  long  resisted 
the  arms  of  the  Earls  of  Lancaster  and  Hereford,  until  the 
magazine  was  treacherously  burnt.  The  garrison  was  then 
compelled  to  surrender  at  discretion,  and  Nigel  Bruce,  a  youth 
remarkable  for  personal  beauty,  as  well  as  for  gallantry,  fell 
into  the  hands  of  the  unrelenting  Edward.  He  was  tried  by  a 
special  commission  at  Berwick,  was  condemned,  and  executed. 

Christopher  Seatoun  shared  the  same  unfortunate  fate.  He 
also  was  distinguished  by  personal  valour,  and  signalised  him- 
self in  the  fatal  battle  of  Methven.  Robert  Bruce  adventured 
his  person  in  that  battle  like  a  knight  of  romance.  He  dis- 
mounted Aymer  de  Valence,  Earl  of  Pembroke,  but  was  in  his 
turn  dismounted  by  Sir  Philip  Mowbray.  In  this  emergence 
Seatoun  came  to  his  aid,  and  remounted  him.  Langtoft  men- 
tions, that  in  this  battle  the  Scottish  wore  white  surplices,  or 
shirts,  over  their  armour,  that  those  of  rank  might  not  be  known. 
In  this  manner  both  Bruce  and  Seatoun  escaped.  But  the  latter 
was  afterwards  betrayed  to  the  English,  through  means,  accord- 
ing to  Barbour,  of  one  MacNab,  'a  disciple  of  Judas,'  in  whom 
the  unfortunate  knight  reposed  entire  confidence.  There  was 
some  peculiarity  respecting  his  punishment;  because,  according 
to  Matthew  of  Westminster,  he  was  considered  not  as  a  Scot- 
tish subject,  but  an  Englishman.  He  was  therefore  taken  to 
Dumfries,  where  he  was  tried,  condemned,  and  executed,  for  the 
murder  of  a  soldier  slain  by  him.   His  brother,  John  de  Seton, 

539 


NOTES 

had  the  same  fate  at  Newcastle;  both  were  considered  as 
accomplices  in  the  slaughter  of  Comyn,  but  in  what  manner 
they  were  particularly  accessary  to  that  deed  does  not  appear. 
The  fate  of  Sir  Simon  Frazer,  or  Frizel,  ancestor  of  the  family 
of  Lovat,  is  dwelt  upon  at  great  length,  and  with  savage  exulta- 
tion, by  the  English  historians.  This  knight,  who  was  renowned 
for  personal  gallantry,  and  high  deeds  of  chivalry,  was  also 
made  prisoner,  after  a  gallant  defence,  in  the  battle  of  Methven. 
Some  stanzas  of  a  ballad  of  the  times,  which,  for  the  sake  of 
rendering  it  intelligible,  I  have  translated  out  of  its  rude  ortho- 
graphy, give  minute  particulars  of  his  fate.  It  was  written 
immediately  at  the  period,  for  it  mentions  the  Earl  of  Athole 
as  not  yet  in  custody.  It  was  first  published  by  the  indefatigable 
Mr.  Ritson,  but  with  so  many  contractions  and  peculiarities  of 
character,  as  to  render  it  illegible,  excepting  by  antiquaries. 

This  was  before  Saint  Bartholomew's  mass. 
That  Frizel  was  y-taken,  were  it  more  other  less, 
To  Sir  Thomas  of  Multon,  gentil  baron  and  free. 
And  to  Sir  Johan  Jose  be-take  tho  was  he 
To  hand 
He  was  y-fettered  wele 
Both  with  iron  and  with  steel 

To  bringen  of  Scotland. 

Soon  thereafter  the  tiding  to  the  king  come. 
He  sent  him  to  London,  with  mony  armed  groom, 
He  came  in  at  Newgate,  I  tell  you  it  on  a-plight, 
A  garland  of  leaves  on  his  head  y-dight 

Of  green. 
For  he  should  be  y-know 
Both  of  high  and  of  low, 

For  traitour  I  ween. 

Y-fettered  were  his  legs  under  his  horse's  wombe, 
Both  with  iron  and  with  steel  mancled  were  his  bond, 
A  garland  of  pervynk'  set  upon  his  heved,^ 
Much  was  the  power  that  him  was  bereved. 
In  land. 
So  God  me  amend, 
Little  he  ween'd 

So  to  be  brought  in  hand. 

This  was  upon  our  lady's  even,  forsooth  I  understand, 
The  justices  sate  for  the  knights  of  Scotland, 

«  Periwinckle.  '  Head. 

S40 


NOTES 

Sir  Thomas  of  Multon,  an  kinde  knyght  and  wise, 
And  Sir  Ralpli  of  Sandwich  that  mickle  is  told  in  price, 
And  Sir  Johan  Abel, 
Moe  I  might  tell  by  tale 
Both  of  great  and  of  small 
Ye  know  sooth  well. 

Then  said  the  justice,  that  gentil  is  and  free. 
Sir  Simond  Frizel  the  king's  traiter  hast  thou  be; 
In  water  and  in  land  that  mony  mighten  see, 
What  sayst  thou  thereto,  how  will  thou  quite  thee. 
Do  say. 
So  foul  he  him  wist, 
Nede  war  on  trust 

For  to  say  nay. 

With  fetters  and  with  gives  *  y-hot  he  was  to-draw 
From  the  Tower  of  London  that  many  men  might  know. 
In  a  kirtle  of  burel,  a  selcouth  wise. 
And  a  garland  on  his  head  of  the  new  guise. 

Through  Cheape 
Many  men  of  England 
For  to  see  Symond 

Thitherward  can  leap. 

Though  he  cam  to  the  gallows  first  he  was  on  hung. 
All  quick  beheaded  that  him  thought  long; 
Then  he  was  y-opened,  his  bowels  y-brend,' 
The  heved  to  London-bridge  was  send 

To  shende. 
So  evermore  mote  I  the. 
Some  while  weened  he 

Thus  httle  to  stand.' 

He  rideth  through  the  city,  as  I  tell  may. 
With  gamen  and  with  solace  that  was  their  play. 
To  London-bridge  he  took  the  way, 
Mony  was  the  wives  child  that  thereon  lacketh  a  day,* 
And  said,  alas! 
That  he  was  y-born 
And  so  vilely  forlorn. 

So  fair  man  he  was.' 

Now  standeth  the  heved  above  the  tu-brigge. 
Fast  by  Wallace  sooth  for  to  segge; 
After  succour  of  Scotland  long  may  he  pry, 
And  after  help  of  France  what  halt  it  to  lie, 
I  ween. 
Better  him  were  in  Scotland, 
With  his  axe  in  his  hand. 

To  play  on  the  green,  etc. 

•  He  was  condemned  to  be  drawn.  '  Burned. 
'  Meaning,  at  one  time  he  little  thought  to  stand  thus. 

*  Namely,  Saith  Lack-a-day. 

»  The  gallant  knight,  like  others  in  the  same  situation,  was  pitied  by  the  female 
apectators  as  '  a  proper  young  man.' 

S4I 


NOTES 

The  preceding  stanzas  contain  probably  as  minute  an  account 
as  can  be  found  of  the  trial  and  execution  of  state  criminals  of  the 
period.  Superstition  mingled  its  horrors  with  those  of  a  ferocious 
state  policy,  as  appears  from  the  following  singular  narrative. 

'The  Friday  next,  before  the  assumption  of  Our  Lady,  King 
Edward  met  Robert  the  Bruce  at  Saint  Johnstoune,  in  Scotland, 
and  with  his  company,  of  which  company  King  Edward  quelde 
seven  thousand.  When  Robert  the  Bruce  saw  this  mischief, 
and  gan  to  flee,  and  hov'd  him  that  men  might  not  him  find; 
but  S.  Simond  Frisell  pursued  was  so  sore,  so  that  he  turned 
again  and  abode  bataille,  for  he  was  a  worthy  knight  and  a 
bolde  of  bodye,  and  the  Englishmen  pursuede  him  sore  on  every 
side,  and  quelde  the  steed  that  Sir  Simon  Frisell  rode  upon,  and 
then  toke  him  and  led  him  to  the  host.  And  S.  Symond  began 
for  to  flatter  and  speke  fair,  and  saide,  Lordys,  I  shall  give  you 
four  thousand  markes  of  silver,  and  myne  horse  and  harness, 
and  all  my  armoure  and  income.  Tho'  answered  Thobaude  of 
Pevenes,  that  was  the  kinges  archer.  Now,  God  me  so  helpe, 
it  is  for  nought  that  thou  speakest,  for  all  the  gold  of  England 
I  would  not  let  thee  go  without  commandment  of  King  Edward. 
And  tho'  he  was  led  to  the  King,  and  the  King  would  not  see 
him,  but  commanded  to  lead  him  away  to  his  doom  in  London, 
on  Our  Lady's  even  nativity.  And  he  was  hung  and  drawn, 
and  his  head  smitten  off,  and  hanged  again  with  chains  of  iron 
upon  the  gallows,  and  his  head  was  set  at  London-bridge  upon 
a  spear,  and  against  Christmas  the  body  was  burnt,  for  encheson 
(reason)  that  the  men  that  keeped  the  body  saw  many  devils 
ramping  with  iron  crooks,  running  upon  the  gallows,  and  hor- 
ribly tormenting  the  body.  And  many  that  them  saw,  anon 
thereafter  died  for  dread,  or  waxen  mad,  or  sore  sickness  they 
had.'  (MS.  Chronicle  in  the  British  Museum,  quoted  by  Ritson.) 

Note  90,  p.  280 

John  de  Strathbogie,  Earl  of  Athole,  had  attempted  to  escape 
out  of  the  kingdom,  but  a  storm  cast  him  upon  the  coast,  when 

542 


i 


NOTES 

he  was  taken,  sent  to  London,  and  executed,  with  circumstances 
of  great  barbarity,  being  first  half  strangled,  then  let  down  from 
the  gallows  while  yet  alive,  barbarously  dismembered,  and  his 
body  burnt.  It  may  surprise  the  reader  to  learn,  that  this  was 
a  mitigated  punishment;  for  in  respect  that  his  mother  was  a 
grand-daughter  of  King  John,  by  his  natural  son  Richard,  he 
was  not  drawn  on  a  sledge  to  execution,  'that  point  was  for- 
given,' and  he  made  the  passage  on  horseback.  Matthew  of 
Westminster  tells  us  that  King  Edward,  then  extremely  ill, 
received  great  ease  from  the  news  that  his  relative  was  appre- 
hended. 'Quo  audita,  Rex  Anglice,  etsi  gravissimo  morbo  tunc 
langueret,  levius  tamen  tulit  dolorem.'  To  this  singular  expression 
the  text  alludes. 

Note  91,  p.  280 

This  alludes  to  a  passage  in  Barbour,  singularly  expressive 
of  the  vindictive  spirit  of  Edward  I.  The  prisoners  taken  at  the 
castle  of  Kildrummie  had  surrendered  upon  condition  that  they 
should  be  at  King  Edward's  disposal.  'But  his  will,'  says  Bar- 
bour, 'was  always  evil  towards  Scottishmen.'  The  news  of  the 
surrender  of  Kildrummie  arrived  when  he  was  in  his  mortal 
sickness  at  Burgh-upon-Sands. 

And  when  he  to  the  death  was  near. 

The  folk  that  at  Kyldromy  wer 

Come  with  prisoners  that  they  had  tane. 

And  syne  to  the  king  are  gane. 

And  for  to  comfort  him  they  tauld 

How  they  the  castell  to  them  yauld; 

And  how  they  till  his  will  were  brought. 

To  do  off  that  whatever  he  thought; 

And  ask'd  what  men  should  off  them  do. 

Then  look'd  he  angryly  them  to, 

He  said,  grinning,  '  hangs  and  draws.' 

That  was  wonder  of  sic  saws, 

That  he,  that  to  the  death  was  near. 

Should  answer  upon  sic  maner, 

Forouten  moaning  and  mercy; 

How  might  he  trust  on  him  to  cry. 

That  sooth-fastly  dooms  all  thing 

To  have  mercy  for  his  crying, 

Off  him  that,  throw  his  felony. 

Into  sic  point  had  no  mercy? 

543 


NOTES 

There  was  much  truth  in  the  Leonine  couplet,  with  which  Mat- 
thew of  Westminster  concludes  his  encomium  on  the  first 
Edward :  — 

Scotos  Edwardus,  dum  vixit,  suppeditavit, 
Tenuit,  aiflixit,  depressit,  dilaniavit. 

Note  92,  p.  280 

The  MacLeods,  and  most  other  distinguished  Hebridean 
families,  were  of  Scandinavian  extraction,  and  some  were  late 
or  imperfect  converts  to  Christianity.  The  family  names  of 
Torquil,  Thormod,  etc.,  are  all  Norwegian. 

Note  93,  p.  283 

Bruce  uniformly  professed,  and  probably  felt,  compunction 
for  having  violated  the  sanctuary  of  the  church  by  the  slaughter 
of  Comyn;  and  finally,  in  his  last  hours,  in  testimony  of  his 
faith,  penitence,  and  zeal,  he  requested  James  Lord  Douglas,  to 
carry  his  heart  to  Jerusalem,  to  be  there  deposited  in  the  Holy 
Sepulchre. 

Note  94,  p.  284 

So  soon  as  the  notice  of  Comyn's  slaughter  reached  Rome, 
Bruce  and  his  adherents  were  excommunicated.  It  was  published 
first  by  the  Archbishop  of  York,  and  renewed  at  different  times, 
particularly  by  Lambyrton,  Bishop  of  Saint  Andrews,  in  1308; 
but  it  does  not  appear  to  have  answered  the  purpose  which  the 
English  monarch  expected.  Indeed,  for  reasons  which  it  may 
be  difficult  to  trace,  the  thunders  of  Rome  descended  upon  the 
Scottish  mountains  with  less  eflfect  than  in  more  fertile  countries. 
Probably  the  comparative  poverty  of  the  benefices  occasioned 
that  fewer  foreign  clergy  settled  in  Scotland ;  and  the  interests 
of  the  native  churchmen  were  linked  with  that  of  their  country. 
Many  of  the  Scottish  prelates,  Lambyrton  the  primate  particu- 
larly, declared  for  Bruce,  while  he  was  yet  under  the  ban  of  the 
church,  although  he  afterwards  again  changed  sides. 

544 


NOTES 

Note  95,  p.  284 

Bruce,  like  other  heroes,  observed  omens,  and  one  is  recorded 
by  tradition.  After  he  had  retreated  to  one  of  the  miserable 
places  of  shelter,  in  which  he  could  venture  to  take  some  repose 
after  his  disasters,  he  lay  stretched  upon  a  handful  of  straw, 
and  abandoned  himself  to  his  melancholy  meditations.  He  had 
now  been  defeated  four  times,  and  was  upon  the  point  of  resolv- 
ing to  abandon  all  hopes  of  further  opposition  to  his  fate,  and 
to  go  to  the  Holy  Land.  It  chanced  his  eye,  while  he  was  thus 
pondering,  was  attracted  by  the  exertions  of  a  spider,  who,  in 
order  to  fix  his  web,  endeavoured  to  swing  himself  from  one 
beam  to  another  above  his  head.  Involuntarily  he  became 
interested  in  the  pertinacity  with  which  the  insect  renewed  his 
exertions,  after  failing  six  times;  and  it  occurred  to  him  that  he 
would  decide  his  own  course  according  to  the  success  or  failure 
of  the  spider.  At  the  seventh  effort  the  insect  gained  his  object: 
and  Bruce,  in  like  manner,  persevered  and  carried  his  own. 
Hence  it  has  been  held  unlucky  or  ungrateful,  or  both,  in  one  of 
the  name  of  Bruce  to  kill  a  spider. 

The  archdeacon  of  Aberdeen,  instead  of  the  abbot  of  this  tale, 
introduces  an  Irish  Pythoness,  who  not  only  predicted  his  good 
fortune  as  he  left  the  is'and  of  Rachrin,  but  sent  her  two  sons 
along  with  him,  to  ensure  her  own  family  a  share  in  it. 

Then  in  schort  time  men  mycht  thaim  se 
Schute  all  thair  galayis  to  the  se. 
And  ber  to  se  baith  ayr  and  ster, 
And  othyr  thingis  that  mystir  *  wer. 
And  as  the  king  apon  the  sand 
Wes  gangand  wp  and  doun,  bidand' 
Till  that  his  menye  redy  war. 
His  ost  come  rycht  till  him  thar. 
And  quhen  that  scho  him  halyst  had. 
And  priwe  spek  till  him  scho  made; 
And  said,  '  Takis  gud  kep  till  my  saw: 
For  or  ye  pass  I  sail  yow  schaw, 
Off  your  fortoun  a  gret  party. 
Bot  our  all  speceally 
A  wyttring  her  I  sail  yow  ma, 
Quhat  end  that  your  purposs  sail  ta. 

1  Need.  »  Abiding. 

"  545 


NOTES 

For  in  this  land  is  nane  trewly 

Wate  thingis  to  cum  sa  weill  as  I. 

Ye  pass  now  forth  on  your  wiage, 

To  wenge  the  harme,  and  the  owtrag, 

That  Ingliss  men  has  to  yow  done; 

Bot  ye  wat  nocht  quhatkyne  forton 

Ye  mon  drey  in  your  werraying. 

Bot  wyt  ye  weill,  with  outyn  lesing, 

That  fra  ye  now  haifif  takyn  land, 

Nane  sa  mychty,  na  sa  strenth  thi  of  hand. 

Sail  ger  yow  pass  owt  of  your  countre 

Till  all  to  yow  abandownyt  be. 

With  in  schort  tyme  ye  sail  be  king. 

And  haiff  the  land  at  your  liking, 

And  ourcum  your  fayis  all. 

Bot  fele  anoyis  thole  ye  sail. 

Or  that  your  purposs  end  haiff  tane: 

Bot  ye  sail  thaim  ourdryve  ilkane. 

And,  that  ye  trow  this  sekyrly. 

My  twa  sonnys  with  yow  sail  I 

Send  to  tak  part  of  your  trawaill; 

For  I  wate  weill  thai  sail  nocht  faill 

To  be  rewardyt  weill  at  rycht, 

Quhen  ye  ar  heyit  to  yowr  mycht.' 

Barbour's  Bruce,  book  in,  v.  856. 


Note  96,  p.  285 
This  is  not  metaphorical.  The  echoes  of  Scotland  did  actually 


With  the  bloodhounds  that  bayed  for  her  fugitive  king. 

A  very  curious  and  romantic  tale  is  told  by  Barbour  upon  this 
subject,  which  may  be  abridged  as  follows:  — 

When  Bruce  had  again  got  footing  in  Scotland  in  the  spring 
of  1306,  he  continued  to  be  in  a  very  weak  and  precarious  con- 
dition, gaining,  indeed,  occasional  advantages,  but  obliged  to 
fly  before  his  enemies  whenever  they  assembled  in  force.  Upon 
one  occasion,  while  he  was  lying  with  a  small  party  in  the  wilds 
of  Cumnock,  in  Ayrshire,  Aymer  de  Valence,  Earl  of  Pembroke, 
with  his  inveterate  foe  John  of  Lorn,  came  against  him  suddenly 
with  eight  hundred  Highlanders,  besides  a  large  body  of  men- 
at-arms.  They  brought  with  them  a  slough-dog,  or  bloodhound, 
which,  some  say,  had  been  once  a  favourite  with  the  Bruce  him- 
self, and  therefore  was  least  likely  to  lose  the  trace. 

546 


NOTES 

Bruce,  whose  force  was  under  four  hundred  men,  continued 
to  make  head  against  the  cavalry,  till  the  men  of  Lorn  had 
nearly  cut  off  his  retreat.  Perceiving  the  danger  of  his  situation, 
he  acted  as  the  celebrated  and  ill-requited  Mina  is  said  to  have 
done  in  similar  circumstances.  He  divided  his  force  into  three 
parts,  appointed  a  place  of  rendezvous,  and  commanded  them 
to  retreat  by  different  routes.  But  when  John  of  Lorn  arrived 
at  the  spot  where  they  divided,  he  caused  the  hound  to  be  put 
upon  the  trace,  which  immediately  directed  him  to  the  pursuit 
of  that  party  which  Bruce  headed.  This,  therefore,  Lorn  pur- 
sued with  his  whole  force,  paying  no  attention  to  the  others. 
The  king  again  subdivided  his  small  body  into  three  parts,  and 
with  the  same  result,  for  the  pursuers  attached  themselves 
exclusively  to  that  which  he  led  in  person.  He  then  paused  his 
followers  to  disperse,  and  retained  only  his  foster-brother  in  his 
company.  The  slough-dog  followed  the  trace,  and,  neglecting 
the  others,  attached  himself  and  his  attendants  to  pursuit  of  the 
king.  Lorn  became  convinced  that  his  enemy  was  nearly  in  his 
power,  and  detached  five  of  his  most  active  attendants  to  follow 
him,  and  interrupt  his  flight.  They  did  so  with  all  the  agility  of 
mountaineers.  'What  aid  wilt  thou  make?'  said  Bruce  to  his 
single  attendant,  when  he  saw  the  five  men  gain  ground  on  him. 
'The  best  I  can,'  replied  his  foster-brother.  'Then,'  said  Bruce, 
'here  I  make  my  stand.'  The  five  pursuers  came  up  fast.  The 
king  took  three  to  himself,  leaving  the  other  two  to  his  foster- 
brother.  He  slew  the  first  who  encountered  him;  but  observing 
his  foster-brother  hard  pressed,  he  sprung  to  his  assistance,  and 
despatched  one  of  his  assailants.  Leaving  him  to  deal  with  the 
survivor,  he  returned  upon  the  other  two,  both  of  whom  he  slew 
before  his  foster-brother  had  despatched  his  single  antagonist. 
When  this  hard  encounter  was  over,  with  a  courtesy,  which  in 
the  whole  work  marks  Bruce's  character,  he  thanked  his  foster- 
brother  for  his  aid.  '  It  likes  you  to  say  so,'  answered  his  follower; 
'but  you  yourself  slew  four  of  the  five.'  'True,'  said  the  King, 
'but  only  because  I  had  better  opportunity  than  you.  They 
were  not  apprehensive  of  me  when  they  saw  me  encounter  three, 

547 


NOTES 

so  I  had  a  moment's  time  to  spring  to  thy  aid,  and  to  return 
equally  unexpectedly  upon  my  own  opponents.' 

In  the  meanwhile  Lorn's  party  approached  rapidly,  and  the 
king  and  his  foster-brother  betook  themselves  to  a  neighbouring 
wood.  Here  they  sat  down,  for  Bruce  was  exhausted  by  fatigue, 
until  the  cry  of  the  slough-hound  came  so  near,  that  his  foster- 
brother  entreated  Bruce  to  provide  for  his  safety  by  retreating 
further.  'I  have  heard,'  answered  the  King,  'that  whosoever 
will  wade  a  bow-shot  length  down  a  running  stream,  shall  make 
the  slough-hound  lose  scent.  —  Let  us  try  the  experiment,  for 
were  yon  devilish  hound  silenced,  I  should  care  little  for  the  rest.' 

Lorn  in  the  meanwhile  advanced,  and  found  the  bodies  of  his 
slain  vassals,  over  whom  he  made  his  moan,  and  threatened  the 
most  deadly  vengeance.  Then  he  followed  the  hound  to  the 
side  of  the  brook,  down  which  the  King  had  waded  a  great  way. 
Here  the  hound  was  at  fault,  and  John  of  Lorn,  after  long  at- 
tempting in  vain  to  recover  Bruce's  trace,  relinquished  the 
pursuit. 

'Others,'  says  Barbour,  'afifirm,  that  upon  this  occasion  the 
king's  life  was  saved  by  an  excellent  archer  who  accompanied 
him,  and  who  perceiving  they  would  be  finally  taken  by  means 
of  the  blood-hound,  hid  himself  in  a  thicket,  and  shot  him  with 
an  arrow.  In  which  way,'  adds  the  metrical  biographer,  'this 
escape  happened  I  am  uncertain,  but  at  that  brook  the  king 
escaped  from  his  pursuers.' 

Quhen  the  chasseris  relyit  war, 
And  Jhon  of  Lorn  had  met  thaim  thar. 
He  tauld  Schyr  Aymer  all  the  cass 
How  that  the  king  eschapyt  wass; 
And  how  that  he  his  five  men  slew, 
And  syne  to  the  wode  him  drew. 
Quhen  Schyr  Aymer  herd  this,  in  hy 
He  sanyt  him  for  the  ferly: 
And  said;  '  He  is  gretly  to  pryss; 
For  I  knaw  nane  that  liffand  is. 
That  at  myscheyff  gan  help  him  swa. 
I  trow  he  suld  be  hard  to  sla, 
And  he  war  bodyn'  ewynly.' 
:    On  this  wiss  spak  Schyr  Aymery. 

Barbour's  Bruce,  book  v,  v.  39i- 
*  Matched. 


NOTES 

The  English  historians  agree  with  Barbour  as  to  the  mode  in 
which  the  English  pursued  Bruce  and  his  followers,  and  the 
dexterity  with  which  he  evaded  them.  The  following  is  the 
testimony  of  Harding,  a  great  enemy  to  the  Scottish  nation:  — 

The  King  Edward  with  hoost  hym  sought  full  sore. 
But  ay  he  fled  into  woodes  and  strayte  forest. 
And  slewe  his  men  at  staytes  and  daungers  thore, 
And  at  marreys  and  mires  was  ay  full  prest 
Englyshmen  to  kyll  withoutyn  any  rest; 
In  the  mountaynes  and  cragges  he  slew  ay  where, 
And  in  the  nyght  his  foes  he  frayed  full  sere: 

The  King  Edward  with  homes  and  houndes  him  soght. 
With  menne  on  fote,  through  marris,  mosse,  and  myre, 
Through  wodes  also,  and  mountens  (wher  thei  fought,) 
And  euer  the  Kyng  Edward  hight  men  greate  hyre, 
Hym  for  to  take  and  by  myght  conquere; 
But  thei  might  hym  not  gette  by  force  ne  by  train, 
He  satte  by  the  fyre  when  thei  went  in  the  rain. 

Hardyng's  Chronicle,  pp.  303-04. 

Peter  Langtoft  has  also  a  passage  concerning  the  extremities 
to  which  King  Robert  was  reduced,  which  he  entitles 

De  Roberto  Brus  etfuga  circum  circa  fit 

And  wele  I  understode  that  the  Kyng  Robyn 

Has  drunken  of  that  blode  the  drink  of  Dan  Waryn. 

Dan  Waryn  he  les  tounes  that  he  held, 

With  wrong  he  mad  a  res,  and  misberyng  of  scheld, 

Sithen  into  the  forest  he  yede  naked  and  wode, 

Als  a  wild  beast,  ete  of  the  gres  that  stode. 

Thus  of  Dan  Waryn  in  his  boke  men  rede, 

God  gyf  the  King  Robyn,  that  alle  his  kynde  so  spede, 

Sir  Robynet  the  Brus  he  durst  noure  abide. 

That  thei  mad  him  restus,  both  in  more  and  wod-side. 

To  while  he  mad  this  train,  and  did  umwhile  outrage,  etc. 

Peter  Langtoft's  Chronicle,  8vo,  London,  1810,  11,  335. 


Note  97,  p.  289 

A  sort  of  persons  common  in  the  isles,  as  may  be  easily  be- 
lieved, until  the  introduction  of  civil  polity.  Witness  the  Dean 
of  the  Isles'  account  of  Ronay.  'At  the  north  end  of  Raarsay, 
be  half  myle  of  sea  frae  it,  layes  ane  ile  callit  Ronay,  maire  then 
a  myle  in  lengthe,  full  of  wood  and  heddir,  with  ane  ha  vein  for 

549 


NOTES 

heiland  galeys  in  the  middis  of  it,  and  the  same  havein  is  guid 
for  fostering  of  theives,  ruggairs  and  reivairs,  till  a  nail,  upon 
the  peilling  and  spulzeing  of  poor  peopill.  This  ile  perteins  to 
M'Gillychallan  of  Raarsay  by  force,  and  to  the  bishope  of  the 
lies  be  heritage.'  (Sir  Donald  Monro's  Description  of  the  Western 
Islands  of  Scotland,  Edinburgh,  1805,  p.  22.) 

Note  98,  p.  294 

I  have  followed  the  vulgar  and  inaccurate  tradition,  that 
Bruce  fought  against  Wallace,  and  the  array  of  Scotland,  at  the 
fatal  battle  of  Falkirk,  The  story,  which  seems  to  have  no  better 
authority  than  that  of  Blind  Harry,  bears,  that  having  made 
much  slaughter  during  the  engagement,  he  sat  down  to  dine 
with  the  conquerors  without  washing  the  filthy  witness  from 
his  hands. 

Fasting  he  was,  and  had  been  in  great  need. 
Blooded  were  all  his  weapons  and  his  weed; 
Southeron  lords  scorn'd  him  in  terms  rude. 
And  said,  Behold  yon  Scot  eats  his  own  blood. 

Then  rued  he  sore,  for  reason  bad  be  known. 
That  blood  and  land  alike  should  be  his  own; 
With  them  he  long  was,  ere  he  got  away. 
But  contrair  Scots  he  fought  not  from  that  day. 

The  account  given  by  most  of  our  historians,  of  the  conversation 
between  Bruce  and  Wallace  over  the  Carron  River,  is  equally 
apocryphal.  There  is  full  evidence  that  Bruce  was  not  at  that 
time  on  the  English  side,  nor  present  at  the  battle  of  Falkirk; 
nay,  that  he  acted  as  a  guardian  of  Scotland,  along  with  John 
Comyn,  in  the  name  of  Baliol,  and  in  opposition  to  the  English, 
He  was  the  grandson  of  the  competitor,  with  whom  he  has  been 
sometimes  confounded.  Lord  Hailes  has  well  described,  and  in 
some  degree  apologised  for,  the  earlier  part  of  his  life.  'His 
grandfather,  the  competitor,  had  patiently  acquiesced  in  the 
award  of  Edward.  His  father,  yielding  to  the  times,  had  served 
under  the  English  banners.  But  young  Bruce  had  more  ambi- 
tion, and  a  more  restless  spirit.    In  his  earlier  years  he  acted 


NOTES 

upon  no  regular  plan.  By  turns  the  partisan  of  Edward,  and 
the  vicegerent  of  Baliol,  he  seems  to  have  forgotten  or  stifled 
his  pretensions  to  the  crown.  But  his  character  developed  itself 
by  degrees,  and  in  maturer  age  became  firm  and  consistent.' 
{Annals  of  Scotland,  p.  290,  quarto,  London,  1776.) 

Note  99,  p.  297. 

The  extraordinary  piece  of  scenery  which  I  have  here 
attempted  to  describe,  is,  I  think,  unparalleled  in  any  part  of 
Scotland,  at  least  in  any  which  I  have  happened  to  visit.  It  lies 
just  upon  the  frontier  of  the  Laird  of  MacLeod's  country,  which 
is  thereabouts  divided  from  the  estate  of  Mr.  Maccallister  of 
Strath-Aird,  called  Strathnardill  by  the  Dean  of  the  Isles.  The 
following  account  of  it  is  extracted  from  a  journal  kept  during 
a  tour  through  the  Scottish  islands:  — 

'The  western  coast  of  Sky  is  highly  romantic,  and  at  the  same 
time  displays  a  richness  of  vegetation  in  the  lower  grounds  to 
which  we  have  hitherto  been  strangers.  We  passed  three  salt- 
water lochs,  or  deep  embayments,  called  Loch  Bracadale,  Loch 

Einort,  and  Loch ,  and  about  1 1  o'clock  opened  Loch 

Slavig.  We  were  now  under  the  western  termination  of  the  high 
ridge  of  mountains  called  Guillen,  or  Quillin,  or  Coolin,  whose 
weatherbeaten  and  serrated  peaks  we  had  admired  at  a  distance 
from  Dunvegan.  They  sunk  here  upon  the  sea,  but  with  the 
same  bold  and  peremptory  aspect  which  their  distant  appear- 
ance indicated.  They  appeared  to  consist  of  precipitous  sheets 
of  naked  rock,  down  which  the  torrents  were  leaping  in  a  hun- 
dred lines  of  foam.  The  tops  of  the  ridge,  apparently  inaccessi- 
ble to  human  foot,  were  rent  and  split  into  the  most  tremendous 
pinnacles.  Towards  the  base  of  these  bare  and  precipitous  crags, 
the  ground,  enriched  by  the  soil  washed  down  from  them,  is 
comparatively  verdant  and  productive.  Where  we  passed  within 
the  small  isle  of  Soa,  we  entered  Loch  Slavig,  under  the  shoulder 
of  one  of  these  grisly  mountains,  and  observed  that  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  loch  was  of  a  milder  character,  the  mountains 

551 


NOTES 

being  softened  down  into  steep  green  declivities.  From  the 
bottom  of  the  bay  advanced  a  headland  of  high  rocks,  which 
divided  its  depth  into  two  recesses,  from  each  of  which  a  brook 
issued.  Here  it  had  been  intimated  to  us  we  would  find  some 
romantic  scenery;  but  we  were  uncertain  up  which  inlet  we 
should  proceed  in  search  of  it.  We  chose,  against  our  better 
judgment,  the  southerly  dip  of  the  bay,  where  we  saw  a  house 
which  might  afford  us  information.  We  found,  upon  enquiry, 
that  there  is  a  lake  adjoining  to  each  branch  of  the  bay;  and 
walked  a  couple  of  miles  to  see  that  near  the  farm-house,  merely 
because  the  honest  highlander  seemed  jealous  of  the  honour  of 
his  own  loch,  though  we  were  speedily  convinced  it  was  not  that 
which  we  were  recommended  to  examine.  It  had  no  particular 
merit,  excepting  from  its  neighbourhood  to  a  very  high  cliff,  or 
precipitous  mountain,  otherwise  the  sheet  of  water  had  nothing 
differing  from  any  ordinary  low-country  lake.  We  returned  and 
re-embarked  in  our  boat,  for  our  guide  shook  his  head  at  our 
proposal  to  climb  over  the  peninsula,  or  rocky  headland  which 
divided  the  two  lakes.  In  rowing  round  the  headland,  we  were 
surprised  at  the  infinite  number  of  sea-fowl,  then  busy  appar- 
ently with  a  shoal  of  fish. 

'Arrived  at  the  depth  of  the  bay,  we  found  that  the  discharge 
from  this  second  lake  forms  a  sort  of  waterfall,  or  rather  a  rapid 
stream,  which  rushes  down  to  the  sea  with  great  fury  and  pre- 
cipitation. Round  this  place  were  assembled  hundreds  of  trouts 
and  salmon,  struggling  to  get  up  into  the  fresh  water:  with  a 
net  we  might  have  had  twenty  salmon  at  a  haul;  and  a  sailor, 
with  no  better  hook  than  a  crooked  pin,  caught  a  dish  of  trouts 
during  our  absence.  Advancing  up  this  huddling  and  riotous 
brook,  we  found  ourselves  in  a  most  extraordinary  scene;  we 
lost  sight  of  the  sea  almost  immediately  after  we  had  climbed 
over  a  low  ridge  of  crags,  and  were  surrounded  by  mountains 
of  naked  rock,  of  the  boldest  and  most  precipitous  character. 
The  ground  on  which  we  walked  was  the  margin  of  a  lake, 
which  seemed  to  have  sustained  the  constant  ravage  of  torrents 
from  these  rude  neighbours.  The  shores  consisted  of  huge  strata 

552 


NOTES 

of  naked  granite,  here  and  there  intermixed  with  bogs,  and 
heaps  of  gravel  and  sand  piled  in  the  empty  watercourses. 
Vegetation  there  was  little  or  none;  and  the  mountains  rose  so 
perpendicularly  from  the  water  edge,  that  Borrowdale,  or  even 
Glencoe,  is  a  jest  to  them.  We  proceeded  a  mile  and  a  half  up 
this  deep,  dark,  and  solitary  lake,  which  was  about  two  miles 
long,  half  a  mile  broad,  and  is,  as  we  learned,  of  extreme  depth. 
The  murky  vapours  which  enveloped  the  mountain  ridges, 
obliged  us  by  assuming  a  thousand  varied  shapes,  changing  their 
drapery  into  all  sorts  of  forms,  and  sometimes  clearing  off  all 
together.  It  is  true,  the  mist  made  us  pay  the  penalty  by  some 
heavy  and  downright  showers,  from  the  frequency  of  which  a 
Highland  boy,  whom  we  brought  from  the  farm,  told  us  the 
lake  was  popularly  called  the  Water-kettle.  The  proper  name 
is  Loch  Corriskin,  from  the  deep  corrie,  or  hollow,  in  the  moun- 
tains of  Cuilin,  which  affords  the  basin  for  this  wonderful  sheet 
of  water.  It  is  as  exquisite  a  savage  scene  as  Loch  Katrine  is  a 
scene  of  romantic  beauty.  After  having  penetrated  so  far  as 
distinctly  to  observe  the  termination  of  the  lake  under  an 
immense  precipice,  which  rises  abruptly  from  the  water,  we 
returned,  and  often  stopped  to  admire  the  ravages  which 
storms  must  have  made  in  these  recesses,  where  all  human 
witnesses  were  driven  to  places  of  more  shelter  and  security. 
Stones,  or  rather  large  masses  and  fragments  of  rocks  of  a  com- 
posite kind,  perfectly  different  from  the  strata  of  the  lake,  were 
scattered  upon  the  bare  rocky  beach,  in  the  strangest  and  most 
precarious  situations,  as  if  abandoned  by  the  torrents  which  had 
borne  them  down  from  above.  Some  lay  loose  and  tottering 
upon  the  ledges  of  the  natural  rock,  with  so  little  security,  that 
the  slightest  push  moved  them,  though  their  weight  might 
exceed  many  tons.  These  detached  rocks,  or  stones,  were  chiefly 
what  is  called  plum-pudding  stones.  The  bare  rocks,  which 
formed  the  shore  of  the  lakes,  were  a  species  of  granite.  The 
opposite  side  of  the  lake  seemed  quite  pathless  and  inaccessible, 
as  a  huge  mountain,  one  of  the  detached  ridges  of  the  Guillen 
hills,  sinks  in  a  profound  and  perpendicular  precipice  down  to 

553 


NOTES 

the  water.  On  the  left-hand  side,  which  we  traversed,  rose  a 
higher  and  equally  inaccessible  mountain,  the  top  of  which 
strongly  resembled  the  shivered  crater  of  an  exhausted  volcano. 
I  never  saw  a  spot  in  which  there  was  less  appearance  of  vegeta- 
tion of  any  kind.  The  eye  rested  on  nothing  but  barren  and 
naked  crags,  and  the  rocks  on  which  we  walked  by  the  side  of 
the  loch,  were  as  bare  as  the  pavements  of  Cheapside.  There 
are  one  or  two  small  islets  in  the  loch,  which  seem  to  bear 
juniper,  or  some  such  low  bushy  shrub.  Upon  the  whole,  though 
I  have  seen  many  scenes  of  more  extensive  desolation,  I  never 
witnessed  any  in  which  it  pressed  more  deeply  upon  the  eye 
and  the  heart  than  at  Loch  Corriskin ;  at  the  same  time  that  its 
grandeur  elevated  and  redeemed  it  from  the  wild  and  dreary 
character  of  utter  barrenness.' 

Note  igo,  p.  303 

The  story  of  Bruce's  meeting  the  banditti  is  copied,  with  such 
alterations  as  the  fictitious  narrative  rendered  necessary,  from  a 
striking  incident  in  the  monarch's  history,  told  by  Barbour,  and 
which  I  shall  give  in  the  words  of  the  hero's  biographer.  It  is  the 
sequel  to  the  adventure  of  the  bloodhound,  narrated  in  Note  96. 
It  will  be  remembered  that  the  narrative  broke  off,  leaving  the 
Bruce  escaped  from  his  pursuers,  but  worn  out  with  fatigue,  and 
having  no  other  attendant  but  his  foster-brother. 

And  the  gud  king  held  forth  his  way, 

Betuix  him  and  his  man,  quhill  thai 

Passyt  owt  throw  the  forest  war; 

Syne  in  the  more  thai  entryt  thar. 

It  wes  bathe  hey,  and  lang,  and  braid; 

And  or  thai  halff  it  passyt  had. 

Thai  saw  on  syd  thre  men  cummand, 

Lik  to  lycht  men  and  wauerand. 

Swerdis  thai  had,  and  axys  als; 

And  ane  off  thaim,  apon  his  hals,' 

A  mekill  boundyn  wethir  bar. 

Thai  met  the  king,  and  halist  2  him  thar: 

And  the  king  thaim  thar  liailsing  yauld;' 

And  askyt  thaim  quethir  tliai  wauld. 

« Neck.  « Saluted.  '  Returned  their  salutt. 

554 


■ll 


NOTES 

Thai  said,  Robert  the  Bruyss  thai  soucht;? 

For  mete  with  him  giff  that  thai  moucht, 

Thar  duelling  with  him  wauld  thai  ma.* 

The  king  said,  '  Giff  that  ye  will  swa, 

Haldys  furth  your  way  with  me, 

/\nd  I  sail  ger  yow  sone  him  se.' 
Thai  persawyt,  be  his  speking. 

That  he  wes  the  selwyn  Robert  king. 

And  chaungyt  contenance  and  late;' 

And  held  nocht  in  the  fyrst  state. 

For  thai  war  fayis  to  the  king; 

And  thoucht  to  cum  in  to  sculking. 

And  duell  with  him,  quhill  that  thai  saw 

Thar  poynt,  and  bryng  him  than  off  daw.* 

Thai  grantyt  till  his  spek  forthi.* 

Bot  the  king,  that  wes  witty, 

Persawyt  weill,  by  thar  hawing. 

That  thai  luffyt  him  na  thing: 

And  said,  '  Falowis,  ye  mon,  all  thrCi 

Forthir  aqwent  till  that  we  be, 

All  be  your  selwyn  furth  ga; 

And,  on  the  samyn  wyss,  we  twa 

Sail  folow  behind  weill  ner." 

Quoth  thai,  '  Schyr,  it  is  na  myster  ' 

To  trow  in  ws  ony  ill.' 
'Nane  do  I,'  said  he;  'bot  I  will. 

That  yhe  ga  fourth  thus,  quhill  we 

Better  with  othyr  knawin  be.' 
'We  grant,'  thai  said,  '  sen  ye  will  swa:! 

And  furth  apon  thair  gate  gan  ga. 
Thus  yeid  thai  till  the  nycht  wes  ner. 

And  than  the  formast  cummyn  wer 

Till  a  waist  housband  houss; '  and  that 

Thai  slew  the  wethir  that  thai  bar: 

And  slew  fyr  for  to  rost  thar  mete; 

And  askyt  the  king  giff  he  wald  ete. 

And  rest  him  till  the  mete  war  dycht. 

The  king,  that  hungry  was,  Ik  hycht, 

Assentyt  till  thair  spek  in  hy. 

Bot  he  said,  he  wald  anerly  ' 

At  a  fyr;  and  thai  all  thre 

On  na  wyss  with  thaim  till  gyddre  be. 

In  the  end  off  the  houss  thai  suld  ma 

Ane  othyr  fyr:  and  thai  did  swa. 

Thai  drew  thaim  in  the  houss  end, 

And  halff  the  wethir  till  him  send. 

And  thai  rostyt  in  hy  thair  mete; 

And  fell  rycht  freschly  for  till  ete. 

For  the  king  weill  lang  fastyt  had; 

And  had  rycht  mekill  trawaill  mad: 

Tharfor  he  eyt  full  egrely. 

And  quhen  he  had  etyn  hastily, 

•  Make.  «  Gesture  or  manner.  '  Kill  him.  «  Therefore. 

•  There  is  no  need.  '  Husbandman's  house,  cottage.  '  Alone. 

555 


NOTES 

He  had  to  slep  sa  mekill  will, 

That  he  moucht  set  na  let  thar  till. 

For  quhen  the  vvanys'  fillyt  ar, 

.Men  worthys^  hewy  euirmar; 

And  to  slepe  drawys  hewynes. 

The  king,  that  all  fortrawaillyt '  wes. 

Saw  that  him  worthyt  slep  nedwayia. 

Till  his  fostyr-brodyr  he  sayis; 
'May  I  traist  in  the,  me  to  walk. 

Till  Ik  a  litill  sleping  tak?  ' 
•  Ya,  Schyr,'  he  said.  '  till  I  may  drey.'* 

The  king  then  wynkyt  a  litill  wey; 

And  slepyt  nocht  full  encrely; 

Bot  gliffnyt  wp  oft  sodanly. 

For  he  had  dreid  off  thai  thre  men. 

That  at  the  tothyr  fyr  war  then. 

That  thai  his  fais  war  he  wyst; 

Tharfor  he  slepyt  as  foule  on  twyst.' 
The  king  slepyt  bot  a  litill  than; 

Quhen  sic  slep  fell  on  his  man, 

That  he  mycht  nocht  hald  wp  his  ey, 

Bot  fell  in  slep,  and  rowtyt  hey. 

Now  is  the  king  in  gret  perile; 

For  slep  he  swa  a  litill  quhile. 

He  sail  be  ded,  for  owtyn  dreid. 

For  the  thre  tratouris  tuk  gud  held. 

That  he  on  slep  wes,  and  his  man. 

In  full  gret  hy  thai  raiss  wp  than, 

And  drew  thair  suerdi*!  hastily; 

And  went  towart  the  king  in  hy, 

Quhen  that  thai  saw  him  sleip  swa. 

And  slepand  thoucht  thai  wald  him  sla. 

The  king  wp  blenkit  hastily. 

And  saw  his  man  slepand  him  by; 

And  saw  cummand  the  tothyr  thre. 

Deliuerly  on  fute  gat  he; 

And  drew  his  suerd  owt,  and  thaim  mete. 

And,  as  he  yude,  his  fute  he  set 

Apon  his  man,  weill  hewyly. 

He  waknyt,  and  raiss  disily: 

For  the  slep  maistryt  hym  sway. 

That  or  he  gat  wp,  ane  off  thai, 

That  com  for  to  sla  the  king, 

Gaiff  hym  a  strak  in  his  rysing, 

Swa  that  he  mycht  help  him  no  mar. 

The  king  sa  straitly  stad  '  wes  thar. 

That  he  wes  neuir  yeyt  sa  stad. 

Ne  war  the  armyng '  that  he  had. 

He  had  bene  dede,  for  owtyn  wer. 

But  nocht  for  thi  s  on  sic  maner 

He  helpyt  him,  in  that  bargayne,' 

«  Bellies.  '  Becomes.  '  Fatigued.  *  Endure.         b  Bird  on  bough. 

«  So  dangerously  situated.         '  Had  it  not  been  for  the  armour  he  wore. 
•  Nevertheless.  '  Fray,  or  dispute. 


556 


NOTES 

That  thai  thre  tratowris  he  has  slan. 
Throw  Goddis  grace,  and  his  manheid. 
His  fostyr-brothyr  thar  wes  dede. 
Then  wes  he  wondre  will  of  wayn,* 
Quhen  he  saw  him  left  allane. 
His  fostyr-brodyr  menyt  he; 
And  waryit  2  all  the  tothyr  thre. 
And  syne  hys  way  tuk  him  allane. 
And  rycht  towart  bis  tryst '  is  gane. 

The  Bruce,  book  v,  v.  403. 


Note  ioi,  p.  313 

Imagination  can  hardly  conceive  any  thing  more  beautiful 
than  the  extraordinary  grotto  discovered  not  many  years  since 
upon  the  estate  of  Alexander  MacAUister,  Esq.,  of  Strathaird. 
It  has  since  been  much  and  deservedly  celebrated,  and  a  full 
account  of  its  beauties  has  been  published  by  Dr.  MacLeay  of 
Oban.  The  general  impression  may  perhaps  be  gathered  from 
the  following  extract  from  a  journal,  which,  written  under  the 
feelings  of  the  moment,  is  likely  to  be  more  accurate  than  any 
attempt  to  recollect  the  impressions  then  received.  'The  first 
entrance  to  this  celebrated  cave  is  rude  and  unpromising;  but 
the  light  of  the  torches,  with  which  we  were  provided,  was  soon 
reflected  from  the  roof,  floor,  and  walls,  which  seem  as  if  they 
were  sheeted  with  marble,  partly  smooth,  partly  rough  with 
frost-work  and  rustic  ornaments,  and  partly  seeming  to  be 
wrought  into  statuary.  The  floor  forms  a  steep  and  difficult 
ascent,  and  might  be  fancifully  compared  to  a  sheet  of  water, 
which,  while  it  rushed  whitening  and  foaming  down  a  declivity, 
had  been  suddenly  arrested  and  consolidated  by  the  spell  of  an 
enchanter.  Upon  attaining  the  summit  of  this  ascent,  the  cave 
opens  into  a  splendid  gallery,  adorned  with  the  most  dazzling 
crystallizations,  and  finally  descends  with  rapidity  to  the  brink 
of  a  pool,  of  the  most  limpid  water,  about  four  or  five  yards 
broad.  There  opens  beyond  this  pool  a  portal  arch,  formed  by 
two  columns  of  white  spar,  with  beautiful  chasing  upon  the 
sides,  which  promises  a  continuation  of  the  cave.   One  of  our 

>  Much  afflicted.  '  Cursed. 

•  The  place  of  rendezvous  appointed  for  his  soldiers. 

557 


NOTES 

sailors  swam  across,  for  there  is  no  other  mode  of  passing,  and 
informed  us  (as  indeed  we  partly  saw  by  the  light  he  carried) 
that  the  enchantment  of  Maccalister's  cave  terminates  with  this 
portal,  a  little  beyond  which  there  was  only  a  rude  cavern, 
speedily  choked  with  stones  and  earth.  But  the  pool,  on  the 
brink  of  which  we  stood,  surrounded  by  the  most  fanciful 
mouldings,  in  a  substance  resembling  white  marble,  and  dis- 
tinguished by  the  depth  and  purity  of  its  waters,  might  have 
been  the  bathing  grotto  of  a  naiad.  The  groups  of  combined 
figures  projecting,  or  embossed,  by  which  the  pool  is  surrounded, 
are  exquisitely  elegant  and  fanciful.  A  statuary  might  catch 
beautiful  hints  from  the  singular  and  romantic  disposition  of 
those  stalactites.  There  is  scarce  a  form,  or  group,  on  which 
active  fancy  may  not  trace  figures  or  grotesque  ornaments, 
which  have  been  gradually  moulded  in  this  cavern  by  the 
dropping  of  the  calcareous  water  hardening  into  petrifactions. 
Many  of  those  fine  groups  have  been  injured  by  the  senseless 
rage  of  appropriation  of  recent  tourists;  and  the  grotto  has  lost 
(I  am  informed),  through  the  smoke  of  torches,  something  of 
that  vivid  silver  tint  which  was  originally  one  of  its  chief  dis- 
tinctions. But  enough  of  beauty  remains  to  compensate  for  all 
that  may  be  lost.'  Mr.  MacAllister  of  Straithaird  has,  with 
great  propriety,  built  up  the  exterior  entrance  to  this  cave,  in 
order  that  strangers  may  enter  properly  attended  by  a  guide,  to 
prevent  any  repetition  of  the  wanton  and  selfish  injury  which 
this  singular  scene  has  already  sustained. 

Note  102,  p.  320 

The  generosity  which  does  justice  to  the  character  of  an 
enemy,  often  marks  Bruce's  sentiments,  as  recorded  by  the 
faithful  Barbour.  He  seldom  mentions  a  fallen  enemy  without 
praising  such  good  qualities  as  he  might  possess.  I  shall  only 
take  one  instance.  Shortly  after  Bruce  landed  in  Carrick,  in 
1306,  Sir  Ingram  Bell,  the  English  governor  of  Ayr,  engaged  a 
wealthy  yeoman,  who  had  hitherto  been  a  follower  of  Bruce, 

558 


NOTES 

to  undertake  the  task  of  assassinating  him.  The  King  learned 
this  treachery,  as  he  is  said  to  have  done  other  secrets  of  the 
enemy,  by  means  of  a  female  with  whom  he  had  an  intrigue. 
Shortly  after  he  was  possessed  of  this  information,  Bruce, 
resorting  to  a  small  thicket  at  a  distance  from  his  men,  with  only 
a  single  page  to  attend  him,  met  the  traitor,  accompanied  by 
two  of  his  sons.  They  approached  him  with  their  wonted 
familiarity,  but  Bruce,  taking  his  page's  bow  and  arrow,  com- 
manded them  to  keep  at  a  distance.  As  they  still  pressed  for- 
ward with  professions  of  zeal  for  his  person  and  service,  he,  after 
a  second  warning,  shot  the  father  with  the  arrow;  and  being  as- 
saulted successively  by  the  two  sons,  despatched  first  one,  who 
was  armed  with  an  axe,  thenastheother charged himwithaspear, 
avoided  the  thrust,  struck  the  head  from  the  spear,  and  cleft 
the  skull  of  the  assassin  with  a  blow  of  his  two-handed  sword. 

He  rushed  down  of  blood  all  red, 
And  when  the  king  saw  they  were  dead, 
All  three  lying,  he  wiped  his  brand. 
With  that  his  boy  came  fast  running. 
And  said,  '  Our  lord  might  lowyt'  be, 
That  granted  you  might  and  poweste ' 
To  fell  the  felony  and  the  pride, 
Of  three  in  so  little  tide.' 
The  king  said,  'So  our  lord  me  see, 
They  have  been  worthy  men  all  three, 
Had  they  not  been  full  of  treason: 
But  that  made  their  confusion." 

Barbour's  Bruce,  book  v,  p.  isa. 


Note  103,  p.  321 

To  establish  his  dominion  in  Scotland  had  been  a  favourite 
object  of  Edward's  ambition,  and  nothing  could  exceed  the 
pertinacity  with  which  he  pursued  it,  unless  his  inveterate 
resentment  against  the  insurgents,  who  so  frequently  broke  the 
English  yoke  when  he  deemed  it  most  firmly  riveted.  After  the 
battles  of  Falkirk  and  Methven,  and  the  dreadful  examples 
which  he  had  made  of  Wallace  and  other  champions  of  national 
independence,  he  probably  concluded  every  chance  of  insurrec- 
•  Lauded.  »  Power. 

5.S9 


NOTES 

tion  was  completely  annihilated.  This  was  in  1306,  when  Bruce, 
as  we  have  seen,  was  utterly  expelled  from  Scotland:  yet,  in  the 
conclusion  of  the  same  year,  Bruce  was  again  in  arms  and  for- 
midable; and  in  1307,  Edward,  though  exhausted  by  a  long  and 
wasting  malady,  put  himself  at  the  head  of  the  army  destined 
to  destroy  him  utterly.  This  was,  perhaps,  partly  in  conse- 
quence of  a  vow  which  he  had  taken  upon  him,  with  all  the 
pomp  of  chivalry,  upon  the  day  in  which  he  dubbed  his  son  a 
knight,  for  which  see  a  subsequent  note.  But  even  his  spirit  of 
vengeance  was  unable  to  restore  his  exhausted  strength.  He 
reached  Burgh-upon-Sands,  a  petty  village  of  Cumberland,  on 
the  shores  of  the  Solway  Firth,  and  there,  6th  July,  1307,  expired 
in  sight  of  the  detested  and  devoted  country  of  Scotland.  His 
dying  injunctions  to  his  son  required  him  to  continue  the 
Scottish  war,  and  never  to  recall  Gaveston.  Edward  H  disobeyed 
both  charges.  Yet,  more  to  mark  his  animosity,  the  dying  mon- 
arch ordered  his  bones  to  be  carried  with  the  invading  army, 
Froissart,  who  probably  had  the  authority  of  eyewitnesses,  has 
given  us  the  following  account  of  this  remarkable  charge:  — 

'  In  the  said  forest,  the  old  King  Robert  of  Scotland  dyd  kepe 
hymselfe,  whan  King  Edward  the  Fyrst  conquered  nygh  all 
Scotland ;  for  he  was  so  often  chased,  that  none  durst  loge  him  in 
castell,  nor  fortresse,  for  feare  of  the  said  Kyng. 

'And  ever  whan  the  King  was  returned  into  Ingland,  than  he 
would  gather  together  agayn  his  people,  and  conquere  townes, 
castells,  and  fortresses,  iuste  to  Berwick,  some  by  battle,  and 
some  by  fair  speech  and  love:  and  when  the  said  King  Edward 
heard  thereof,  than  would  he  assemble  his  power,  and  wyn  the 
realme  of  Scotland  again;  thus  the  chance  went  between  these 
two  foresaid  Kings.  It  was  shewed  me,  how  that  this  King 
Robert  wan  and  lost  his  realme  v.  times.  So  this  continued  till 
the  said  King  Edward  died  at  Berwick:  and  when  he  saw  that  he 
should  die,  he  called  before  him  his  eldest  son,  who  was  King 
after  him,  and  there,  before  all  the  barones,  he  caused  him  to 
swear,  that  as  soon  as  he  were  dead,  that  he  should  take  his 
body,  and  boyle  it  in  a  cauldron,  till  the  flesh  departed  clean 

560 


NOTES 

from  the  bones,  and  than  to  bury  the  flesh,  and  keep  still  the 
bones;  and  that  as  often  as  the  Scotts  should  rebell  against  him, 
he  should  assemble  the  people  against  them,  and  carry  with  him 
the  bones  of  his  father;  for  he  believed  verily,  that  if  they  had 
his  bones  with  them,  that  the  Scotts  should  never  attain  any 
victory  against  them.  The  which  thing  was  not  accomplished, 
for  when  the  King  died  his  son  carried  him  to  London.'  (Ber- 
ners'  Froissart's  Chronicle,  London,  1812,  pp.  39,  40.) 

Edward's  commands  were  not  obeyed,  for  he  was  interred  in 
Westminster  Abbey,  with  the  appropriate  inscription :  — 

'Edwardus  Primus  Scotorum  malleus  hic  est. 
Pactum  Serva.' 

Yet  some  steps  seem  to  have  been  taken  towards  rendering 
his  body  capable  of  occasional  transportation,  for  it  was  exqui- 
sitely embalmed,  as  was  ascertained  when  his  tomb  was  opened 
some  years  ago.  Edward  II  judged  wisely  in  not  carrying  the 
dead  body  of  his  father  into  Scotland,  since  he  would  not  obey 
his  living  counsels. 

It  ought  to  be  observed,  that  though  the  order  of  the  incidents 
is  reversed  in  the  poem,  yet,  in  point  of  historical  accuracy, 
Bruce  had  landed  in  Scotland,  and  obtained  some  successes  of 
consequence,  before  the  death  of  Edward  I. 

Note  104,  p.  325 

The  little  island  of  Canna,  or  Cannay,  adjoins  to  those  of  Rum 
and  Muick,  with  which  it  forms  one  parish.  In  a  pretty  bay 
opening  towards  the  east,  there  is  a  lofty  and  slender  rock 
detached  from  the  shore.  Upon  the  summit  are  the  ruins  of  a 
very  small  tower,  scarcely  accessible  by  a  steep  and  precipitous 
path.  Here  it  is  said  one  of  the  kings,  or  Lords  of  the  Isles,  con- 
fined a  beautiful  lady,  of  whom  he  was  jealous.  The  ruins  are 
of  course  haunted  by  her  restless  spirit,  and  many  romantic 
stories  are  told  by  the  aged  people  of  the  island  concerning  her 
fate  in  life,  and  her  appearances  after  death. 

40  561 


NOTES 

Note  105,  p.  327 

Ronin  (popularly  called  Rum,  a  name  which  a  poet  may  be 
pardoned  for  avoiding  if  possible,  is  a  very  rough  and  moun- 
tainous island,  adjacent  to  those  of  Eigg  and  Cannay.  There  is 
almost  no  arable  ground  upon  it,  so  that,  except  in  the  plenty 
of  the  deer,  which  of  course  are  now  nearly  extirpated,  it  still 
deserves  the  description  bestowed  by  the  archdean  of  the 
Isles.  *  Ronin,  sixteen  myle  north-wast  from  the  ile  of  Coll,  lyes 
ane  ile  callit  Ronin  Ile,  of  sixteen  myle  long,  and  six  in  bredthe 
in  the  narrowest,  ane  forest  of  heigh  mountains,  and  abundance 
of  little  deir  in  it,  quhilk  deir  will  never  be  slane  dounewith,  but 
the  principal  saittis  man  be  in  the  height  of  the  hill,  because  the 
deir  will  be  callit  upwart  ay  be  the  tainchell,  or  without  tynchel 
they  will  pass  upwart  perforce.  In  this  ile  will  be  gotten  about 
Britane  als  many  wild  nests  upon  the  plane  mure  as  men  pleasis 
to  gadder,  and  yet  by  resson  the  fowls  hes  few  to  start  them 
except  deir.  This  ile  lyes  from  the  west  to  the  eist  in  lenth,  and 
pertains  to  M'Kenabrey  of  Colla.  Many  solan  geese  are  in  this 
ile.'   (Monro's  Description  of  the  Western  Isles,  p.  18.) 

Note  106,  p.  327 

These,  and  the  following  lines  of  the  stanza,  refer  to  a  dreadful 
tale  of  feudal  vengeance,  of  which  unfortunately  there  are  relics 
that  still  attest  the  truth.  Scoor-Eigg  is  a  high  peak  in  the 
centre  of  the  small  Isle  of  Eigg,  or  Egg.  It  is  well  known  to 
mineralogists,  as  afifording  many  interesting  specimens,  and  to 
others  whom  chance  or  curiosity  may  lead  to  the  island,  for  the 
astonishing  view  of  the  mainland  and  neighbouring  isles,  which 
it  commands.  I  shall  again  avail  myself  of  the  journal  I  have 
quoted. 

'26th  August,  18 1 4.  — At  seven  this  morning  we  were  in  the 
Sound  which  divides  the  Isle  of  Rum  from  that  of  Egg.  The  lat- 
ter, although  hilly  and  rocky,  and  traversed  by  a  remarkably 
high  and  barren  ridge,  called  Scoor-Eigg,  has,  in  point  of  soil, 

562 


NOTES 

a  much  more  promising  appearance.  Southward  of  both  h'es  the 
Isle  of  Muich,  or  Muck,  a  low  and  fertile  island,  and  though  the 
least,  yet  probably  the  most  valuable  of  the  three.  We  manned 
the  boat,  and  rowed  along  the  shore  of  Egg  in  quest  of  a  cavern, 
which  had  been  the  memorable  scene  of  a  horrid  feudal  ven- 
geance. We  had  rounded  more  than  half  the  island,  admiring 
the  entrance  of  many  a  bold  natural  cave,  which  its  rocks 
exhibited,  without  finding  that  which  we  sought,  until  we  pro- 
cured a  guide.  Nor,  indeed,  was  it  surprising  that  it  should  have 
escaped  the  search  of  strangers,  as  there  are  no  outward  indica- 
tions more  than  might  distinguish  the  entrance  of  a  fox-earth. 
This  noted  cave  has  a  very  narrow  opening,  through  which  one 
can  hardly  creep  on  his  knees  and  hands.  It  rises  steep  and  lofty 
within,  and  runs  into  the  bowels  of  the  rock  to  the  depth  of  two 
hundred  and  fifty-five  measured  feet;  the  height  at  the  entrance 
may  be  about  three  feet,  but  rises  within  to  eighteen  or  twenty, 
and  the  breadth  may  vary  in  the  same  proportion.  The  rude 
and  stony  bottom  of  this  cave  is  strewed  with  the  bones  of  men, 
women,  and  children,  the  sad  relics  of  the  ancient  inhabitants 
of  the  island,  two  hundred  in  number,  who  were  slain  on  the 
following  occasion:  The  MacDonalds  of  the  Isle  of  Egg,  a  people 
dependent  on  Clan-Ranald,  had  done  some  injury  to  the  Laird 
of  MacLeod.  The  tradition  of  the  isle  says,  that  it  was  by  a 
personal  attack  on  the  chieftain,  in  which  his  back  was  broken. 
But  that  of  the  other  isles  bears,  more  probably,  that  the 
injury  was  offered  to  two  or  three  of  the  MacLeods,  who,  land- 
ing upon  Eigg,  and  using  some  freedom  with  the  young  women, 
were  seized  by  the  islanders,  bound  hand  and  foot,  and  turned 
adrift  in  a  boat,  which  the  winds  and  waves  safely  conducted 
to  Skye.  To  avenge  the  offence  given,  MacLeod  sailed  with  such 
a  body  of  men,  as  rendered  resistance  hopeless.  The  natives, 
fearing  his  vengeance,  concealed  themselves  in  this  cavern,  and, 
after  a  strict  search,  the  MacLeods  went  on  board  their  galleys, 
after  doing  what  mischief  they  could,  concluding  the  inhabitants 
had  left  the  isle,  and  betaken  themseh-es  to  the  Long  Island,  or 
some  of  Clan-Ranald's  other  possessions.    But  next  morning 

563 


NOTES 

they  espied  from  the  vessels  a  man  upon  the  island,  and  imme- 
diately landing  again,  they  traced  his  retreat  by  the  marks  of  his 
footsteps,  a  light  snow  being  unhappily  on  the  ground.  MacLeod 
then  surrounded  the  cavern,  summoned  the  subterranean  gar- 
rison, and  demanded  that  the  individuals  who  had  offended  him 
should  be  delivered  up  to  him.  This  was  peremptorily  refused. 
The  chieftain  then  caused  his  people  to  divert  the  course  of  a  rill 
of  water,  which,  falling  over  the  entrance  of  the  cave,  would 
have  prevented  his  purposed  vengeance.  He  then  kindled  at 
the  entrance  of  the  cavern  a  huge  fire,  composed  of  turf  and  fern, 
and  maintained  it  with  unrelenting  assiduity,  until  all  within 
were  destroyed  by  suffocation.  The  date  of  this  dreadful  deed 
must  have  been  recent,  if  one  may  judge  from  the  fresh  appear- 
ance of  those  relics.  I  brought  off,  in  spite  of  the  prejudice  of 
our  sailors,  a  skull  from  among  the  numerous  specim.ens  of 
mortality  which  the  cavern  afforded.  Before  reembarking  we 
visited  another  cave,  opening  to  the  sea,  but  of  a  character 
entirely  different,  being  a  large  open  vault  as  high  as  that  of  a 
cathedral,  and  running  back  a  great  way  into  the  rock  at  the 
same  height.  The  height  and  width  of  the  opening  gives  ample 
light  to  the  whole.  Here,  after  1745,  when  the  Catholic  priests 
were  scarcely  tolerated,  the  priest  of  Eigg  used  to  perform  the 
Roman  Catholic  service,  most  of  the  islanders  being  of  that 
persuasion.  A  huge  ledge  of  rocks  rising  about  half-way  up  one 
side  of  the  vault,  served  for  altar  and  pulpit;  and  the  appear- 
ance of  a  priest  and  Highland  congregation  in  such  an  extraor- 
dinary place  of  worship,  might  have  engaged  the  pencil  of 
Sal  va  tor.' 

Note  107,  p.  328 

It  would  be  unpardonable  to  detain  the  reader  upon  a  wonder 
so  often  described,  and  yet  so  incapable  of  being  understood  by 
description.  This  palace  of  Neptune  is  even  grander  upon  a 
second  than  the  first  view.  The  stupendous  columns  which  form 
the  sides  of  the  cave,  the  depth  and  strength  of  the  tide  which 
rolls  its  deep  and  heavy  swell  up  to  the  extremity  of  the  vault  — 

564 


NOTES 

the  variety  of  tints  formed  by  white,  crimson,  and  yellow 
stalactites,  or  petrifactions,  which  occupy  the  vacancies  between 
the  base  of  the  broken  pillars  which  form  the  roof,  and  intersect 
them  with  a  rich,  curious,  and  variegated  chasing,  occupying 
each  interstice  —  the  corresponding  variety  below  water,  where 
the  ocean  rolls  over  a  dark-red  or  violet-coloured  rock,  from 
which,  as  from  a  base,  the  basaltic  columns  arise  —  the  tremen- 
dous noise  of  the  swelling  tide,  mingling  with  the  deep-toned 
echoes  of  the  vault  —  are  circumstances  elsewhere  unparalleled. 
Nothing  can  be  more  interesting  than  the  varied  appearance 
of  the  little  archipelago  of  islets,  of  which  Staffa  is  the  most 
remarkable.  This  group,  called  in  Gaelic  Tresharnish,  affords 
a  thousand  varied  views  to  the  voyager,  as  they  appear  in 
different  positions  with  reference  to  his  course.  The  variety  of 
their  shape  contributes  much  to  the  beauty  of  these  effects. 

Note  io8,  p.  330 

The  ballad,  entitled  Macphail  of  Colonsay,  and  the  Mermaid 
of  Corrievrekin,  was  composed  by  John  Leyden,  from  a  tradition 
which  he  found  while  making  a  tour  through  the  Hebrides  about 
1801,  soon  before  his  fatal  departure  for  India,  where,  after 
having  made  farther  progress  in  Oriental  literature  than  any 
man  of  letters  who  had  embraced  those  studies,  he  died  a  martyr 
to  his  zeal  for  knowledge,  in  the  island  of  Java,  immediately 
after  the  landing  of  our  forces  near  Batavia,  in  August,  181 1. 

Note  109,  p.  330 

The  peninsula  of  Cantire  is  joined  to  South  Knapdale  by  a 
very  narrow  isthmus,  formed  by  the  western  and  eastern  Loch 
of  Tarbat.  These  two  saltwater  lakes,  or  bays,  encroach  so  far 
upon  the  land,  and  the  extremities  come  so  near  to  each  other, 
that  there  is  not  above  a  mile  of  land  to  divide  them. 

'It  is  not  long,'  says  Pennant,  'since  vessels  of  nine  or  ten 
tons  were  drawn  by  horses  out  of  the  west  loch  into  that  of  the 

565 


NOTES 

east,  to  avoid  the  dangers  of  the  Mull  of  Cantyre,  so  dreaded  and 
so  little  known  was  the  navigation  round  that  promontory.  It  is 
the  opinion  of  many,  that  these  little  isthmuses,  so  frequently 
styled  Tarbat  in  North  Britain,  took  their  name  from  the  above 
circumstance;  Tarruing,  signifying  to  draw,  and  Bata,  a  boat. 
This  too  might  be  called,  by  way  of  preeminence,  the  Tarbat, 
from  a  very  singular  circumstance  related  by  Torfceus.  When 
Magnus,  the  barefooted  king  of  Norway,  obtained  from  Donald- 
bane  of  Scotland  the  cession  of  the  Western  Isles,  or  all  those 
places  that  could  be  surrounded  in  a  boat,  he  added  to  them  the 
peninsula  of  Cantyre  by  this  fraud:  he  placed  himself  in  the 
stern  of  a  boat,  held  the  rudder,  was  drawn  over  this  narrow 
track,  and  by  this  species  of  navigation  wrested  the  country 
from  his  brother  monarch.'  (Pennant's  Scotland,  London,  1790, 
p.  190.) 

But  that  Bruce  also  made  this  passage,  although  at  a  period 
two  or  three  years  later  than  in  the  poem,  appears  from  the 
evidence  of  Barbour,  who  mentions  also  the  effect  produced  upon 
the  minds  of  the  Highlanders,  from  the  prophecies  current 
amongst  them :  — 

Bot  to  King  Robert  will  we  gang, 

That  we  haff  left  wnspokyn  of  lang. 

Quhen  he  had  conwoyit  to  the  se 

His  brodyr  Eduuard,  and  his  menye. 

And  othyr  men  off  gret  noblay. 

To  Tarbart  thai  held  thair  way. 

In  galayis  ordanyt  for  thair  far. 

Bot  thaim  worthyt  i  draw  thair  schippis  thar: 

And  a  myle  wes  betuix  the  seys; 

Bot  that  wes  lompnyt  ^  all  with  treis. 

The  King  his  schippis  thar  gert '  draw. 

And  for  the  wynd  couth  *  stoutly  blaw 

Apon  thair  bak,  as  thai  wald  ga, 

He  gert  men  rapys  and  mastis  ta, 

And  set  thaim  in  the  schippis  hey, 

And  sayllis  to  the  toppis  tey; 

And  gert  men  gang  thar  by  drawand. 

The  wynd  thaim  helpyt,  that  was  blawand; 

Swa  that,  in  a  litill  space, 

Thair  fiote  all  our  drawin  was. 

And  quhen  thai,  that  in  the  His  war. 

Hard  tell  how  the  gud  King  had  thar 

«  Were  obliged  to.         '  Laid  with  trees.         »  Caused.  *  Could. 

566 


NOTES 

Gert  hys  schlppis  with  saillis  ga 

Owt  our  betuix  [the]  Tarbart[isl  twa, 

Thai  war  abaysit '  sa  wtrely. 

For  thai  wyst,  throw  auld  prophecy, 

That  he  that  suld  ger^  schippis  sua 

Betuix  thai  seis  with  saillis  ga, 

Suld  wyne  the  His  sua  till  hand. 

That  nane  with  strenth  suld  him  withstand. 

Tharfor  thai  come  all  to  the  King. 

Wes  nane  withstud  his  bidding, 

Owtakyn'  Jhone  of  Lome  allayne. 

Bot  Weill  sone  eftre  wes  he  tayne; 

And  present  rycht  to  the  King. 

And  thai  that  war  of  his  leding, 

That  till  the  King  had  brokyn  lay,* 

War  all  dede,  and  destroyit  away. 

Barbour's  Bruce,  book  x,  v.  821. 


Note  iio,  p.  331 

Loch  Ranza  is  a  beautiful  bay,  on  the  northern  extremity  of 
Arran,  opening  towards  East  Tarbat  Loch.  It  is  well  described 
by  Pennant : '  The  approach  was  magnificent ;  a  fine  bay  in  front, 
about  a  mile  deep,  having  a  ruined  castle  near  the  lower  end, 
on  a  low  far  projecting  neck  of  land,  that  forms  another  harbour, 
with  a  narrow  passage;  but  within  has  three  fathom  of  water, 
even  at  the  lowest  ebb.  Beyond  is  a  little  plain  watered  by  a 
stream,  and  inhabited  by  the  people  of  a  small  village.  The 
whole  is  environed  with  a  theatre  of  mountains;  and  in  the 
background  the  serrated  crags  of  Grianan-Athol  soar  above.* 
(Pennant's  Tour  to  the  Western  Isles,  pp.  191-92.)  Ben-Ghaoil, 
'the  mountain  of  the  winds,'  is  generally  known  by  its  English, 
and  less  poetical  name,  of  Goatfield. 

Note  hi,  p.  337 

The  passage  in  Barbour,  describing  the  landing  of  Bruce,  and 
his  being  recognised  by  Douglas  and  those  of  his  followers  who 
had  preceded  him,  by  the  sound  of  his  horn,  is  in  the  original 
singularly  simple  and  affecting.  The  King  arrived  in  Arran  with 
thirty-three  small  row-boats.  He  interrogated  a  female  if  there 

•  Confounded.  '  Make.  '  Excepting.  « Faith. 


NOTES 

had  arrived  any  warlike  men  of  late  in  that  country.  'Surely, 
sir,'  she  replied,  '  I  can  tell  you  of  many  who  lately  came  hither, 
discomfited  the  English  governor,  and  blockaded  his  castle  of 
Brodick.  They  maintain  themselves  in  a  wood  at  no  great 
distance.'  The  king,  truly  conceiving  that  this  must  be  Douglas 
and  his  followers,  who  had  lately  set  forth  to  try  their  fortune 
in  Arran,  desired  the  woman  to  conduct  him  to  the  wood.  She 
obeyed. 

The  king  then  blew  his  horn  on  high; 
And  gert  his  men  that  were  him  by, 
Hold  them  still,  and  all  privy; 
And  syne  again  his  home  blew  he. 
James  of  Dowglas  heard  him  blow, 
And  at  the  last  alone  gan  know. 
And  said, '  Soothly  yon  is  the  king; 
I  know  long  while  since  his  blowing.' 
The  third  time  therewithall  he  blew. 
And  then  Sir  Robert  Boid  it  knew; 
And  said,  '  Yon  is  the  king,  but  dread, 
Go  we  forth  till  him,  better  speed.' 
Then  went  they  till  the  king  in  hye. 
And  him  inclined  courteously. 
And  blithly  welcomed  them  the  king. 
And  was  joyful  of  their  meeting. 
And  kissed  them;  and  speared*  syne 
How  they  had  fared  in  hunting? 
And  they  him  told  all,  but  lesing:' 
Syne  laud  they  God  of  their  meeting. 
Syne  with  the  king  till  his  harbourye 
Went  both  joyfu'  and  jolly. 

Barbour's  Bruce,  book  V,  pp.  lis,  ii6« 

Note  112,  p.  339 

The  kind,  and  yet  fiery  character  of  Edward  Bruce,  is  well 
painted  by  Barbour,  in  the  account  of  his  behaviour  after  the 
battle  of  Bannockburn.  Sir  Walter  Ross,  one  of  the  very  few 
Scottish  nobles  who  fell  in  that  battle,  was  so  dearly  beloved  by 
Edward,  that  he  wished  the  victory  had  been  lost,  so  Ross  had 
lived. 

Out-taken  him,  men  has  not  seen 
Where  he  for  any  men  made  moaning. 

And  here  the  venerable  Archdeacon  intimates  a  piece  of  scandal. 
Sir  Edward  Bruce,  it  seems,  loved  Ross's  sister,  par  amours,  to 
»  Asked.  '  Without  lying. 

568 


NOTES 

the  neglect  of  his  own  lady,  sister  to  David  de  Strathbogie,  Earl 
of  Athole.  This  criminal  passion  had  evil  consequences;  for,  in 
resentment  of  the  affront  done  to  his  sister,  Athole  attacked  the 
guard  which  Bruce  had  left  at  Cambuskenneth,  during  the 
battle  of  Bannockburn,  to  protect  his  magazine  of  provisions, 
and  slew  Sir  William  Keith,  the  commander.  For  which  treason 
he  was  forfeited. 

In  like  manner,  when  in  a  sally  from  Carrickfergus,  Neil 
Fleming,  and  the  guards  whom  he  commanded,  had  fallen,  after 
the  protracted  resistance  which  saved  the  rest  of  Edward  Bruce 's 
army,  he  made  such  moan  as  surprised  his  followers:  — 

Sic  moan  he  made  men  had  ferly,* 
For  he  was  not  customably 
Wont  for  to  moan  men  any  thing, 
Nor  would  not  hear  men  make  moaning. 

Such  are  the  nice  traits  of  character  so  often  lost  in  general 
history. 

Note  113,  p.  346 

This  incident,  which  illustrates  so  happily  the  chivalrous 
generosity  of  Bruce's  character,  is  one  of  the  many  simple  and 
natural  traits  recorded  by  Barbour.  It  occurred  during  the 
expedition  which  Bruce  made  to  Ireland,  to  support  the  preten- 
sions of  his  brother  Edward  to  the  throne  of  that  kingdom 
Bruce  was  about  to  retreat,  and  his  host  was  arrayed  for  moving. 

The  king  has  heard  a  woman  cry. 

He  asked  what  that  was  in  hy.' 
'It  is  the  layndar,'  sir,'  sai  ane, 
'That  her  child -ilM  right  now  has  ta'en: 

And  must  leave  now  behind  us  here. 

Therefore  she  makes  an  evil  cheer.' ' 

The  king  said,  '  Certes,'  it  were  pity 

That  she  in  that  point  left  should  be. 

For  certes  I  trow  there  is  no  man 

That  he  no  will  rue'  a  woman  than.' 

His  hosts  all  there  arested  he, 

And  gerts  a  tent  soon  stintit'  be, 

And  gert  her  gang  in  hastily. 

And  other  women  to  be  her  by. 

>  Wonder.         »  Haste.  »  Laundress.  «  Child-bed.         »  Stop. 

•  Certainly.  »  Pity.  8  Caused.  »  Pitched. 


NOTES 

While  she  was  delivered  he  bade; 
And  syne  forth  on  his  ways  rade. 
And  how  she  forth  should  carried  be, 
Or  he  forth  fure,'  ordained  he. 
This  was  a  full  great  courtesy. 
That  swilk  a  king  and  so  mighty, 
Gert  his  men  dwell  on  this  manner, 
But  for  a  poor  lavender." 

Barbour's  Bruce,  book  XVI,  pp.  39,  40. 


Note  114,  p.  355 

The  interior  of  the  island  of  Arran  abounds  with  beautiful 
highland  scenery.  The  hills,  being  very  rocky  and  precipitous, 
aflford  some  cataracts  of  great  height,  though  of  inconsiderable 
breadth.  There  is  one  pass  over  the  river  Machrai,  renowned 
for  the  dilemma  of  a  poor  woman,  who,  being  tempted  by  the 
narrowness  of  the  ravine  to  step  across,  succeeded  in  making 
the  first  movement,  but  took  fright  when  it  became  necessary 
to  move  the  other  foot,  and  remained  in  a  posture  equally  ludi- 
crous and  dangerous,  until  some  chance  passenger  assisted  her 
to  extricate  herself.   It  is  said  she  remained  there  some  hours. 

Note  115,  p.  355 

The  isle  of  Arran,  like  those  of  Man  and  Anglesea,  abounds 
with  many  relics  of  heathen,  and  probably  Druidical,  supersti- 
tion. There  are  high  erect  columns  of  unhewn  stone,  the  most 
early  of  all  monuments,  the  circles  of  rude  stones,  commonly 
entitled  Druidical,  and  the  cairns,  or  sepulchral  piles,  within 
which  are  usually  found  urns  enclosing  ashes.  Much  doubt 
necessarily  rests  upon  the  history  of  such  monuments,  nor  is 
it  possible  to  consider  them  as  exclusively  Celtic,  or  Druidical. 
By  much  the  finest  circles  of  standing  stones,  excepting  Stone- 
henge.are  those  of  Stenhouse,at  Stennis,in  the  island  of  Pomona, 
the  principal  isle  of  the  Orcades.  These,  of  course,  are  neither 
Celtic  nor  Druidical;  and  we  are  assured  that  many  circles  of 
the  kind  occur  both  in  Sweden  and  Norway. 

»  Moved. 


NOTES 

Note  ii6,  p.  355 

Brodick  or  Brathwick  Castle,  in  the  Isle  of  Arran,  is  an 
ancient  fortress,  near  an  open  roadstead  called  Brodick  Bay,  and 
not  far  distant  from  a  tolerable  harbour,  closed  in  by  the  island 
of  Lamlash.  This  important  place  had  been  assailed  a  short  time 
before  Bruce's  arrival  in  the  island.  James  Lord  Douglas,  who 
accompanied  Bruce  to  his  retreat  in  Rachrine,  seems,  in  the 
spring  of  1306,  to  have  tired  of  his  abode  there,  and  set  out 
accordingly,  in  the  phrase  of  the  times,  to  see  what  adventure 
God  would  send  him.  Sir  Robert  Boyd  accompanied  him;  and 
his  knowledge  of  the  localities  of  Arran  appears  to  have  directed 
his  course  thither.  They  landed  in  the  island  privately,  and 
appear  to  have  laid  an  ambush  for  Sir  John  Hastings,  the  Eng- 
lish governor  of  Brodwick,  and  surprised  a  considerable  supply 
of  arms  and  provisions,  and  nearly  took  the  castle  itself.  Indeed, 
that  they  actually  did  so,  has  been  generally  averred  by  histo- 
rians, although  it  does  not  appear  from  the  narrative  of  Barbour. 
On  the  contrary,  it  would  seem  that  they  took  shelter  within  a 
fortification  of  the  ancient  inhabitants,  a  rampart  called  'Tor 
an  Schian.'  When  they  were  joined  by  Bruce,  it  seems  probable 
that  they  had  gained  Brodick  Castle.  At  least  tradition  says, 
that  from  the  battlements  of  the  tower  he  saw  the  supposed 
signal-fire  on  Turnberry-nook.  .  .  .  The  castle  is  now  much 
modernised,  but  has  a  dignified  appearance,  being  surrounded 
by  flourishing  plantations. 

Note  117,  P-  357 

Barbour,  with  great  simplicity,  gives  an  anecdote,  from  which 
it  would  seem  that  the  vice  of  profane  swearing,  afterwards  too 
general  among  the  Scottish  nation,  was,  at  this  time,  confined 
to  military  men.  As  Douglas,  after  Bruce's  return  to  Scotland, 
was  roving  about  the  mountainous  country  of  Tweeddale,  near 
the  water  of  Line,  he  chanced  to  hear  some  persons  in  a  farm- 
house say  'the  devil.'  Concluding,  from  this  hardy  expression, 

571 


NOTES 

that  the  house  contained  warlike  guests,  he  immediately 
assailed  it,  and  had  the  good  fortune  to  make  prisoners  Thomas 
Randolph,  afterwards  the  famous  Earl  of  Murray,  and  Alex- 
ander Stuart,  Lord  Bonkle.  Both  were  then  in  the  English 
interest,  and  had  come  into  that  country  with  the  purpose  of 
driving  out  Douglas.  They  afterwards  ranked  among  Bruce's 
most  zealous  adherents. 


Note  ii8,  p.  359 

The  remarkable  circumstances  by  which  Bruce  was  induced 
to  enter  Scotland,  under  the  false  idea  that  a  signal-fire  was 
lighted  upon  the  shore  near  his  maternal  castle  of  Turnberry  — 
the  disappointment  which  he  met  with,  and  the  train  of  success 
which  arose  out  of  that  very  disappointment,  are  too  curious 
to  be  passed  over  unnoticed.  The  following  is  the  narrative 
of  Barbour.  The  introduction  is  a  favourable  specimen  of  his 
style,  which  seems  to  be  in  some  degree  the  model  for  that  of 
Gawain  Douglas:  — 

This  wes  in  ver,*  quhen  wynter  tid. 
With  his  blastis  hidwyss  to  bid. 
Was  our  drywn:  and  byrdis  smale. 
As  turturis  and  the  nychtyngale, 
Begouth^  rycht  sariely  ^  to  syng; 
And  for  to  mak  in  thair  singyng 
Swete  notis,  and  sownys  ser,* 
And  melodys  plesand  to  her. 
And  the  treis  begouth  to  ma  s 
Burgeans,'  and  brycht  blomys  alsua. 
To  wyn  the  helyng'  off  thair  hewid, 
That  wykkyt  wyntir  had  thaim  rewid.' 
And  all  gressys  beguth  to  spryng. 
In  to  that  tyme  the  nobill  king, 
With  his  flote,  and  a  few  menye,* 
Thre  hundyr  I  trow  thai  mycht  be. 
Is  to  the  se,  owte  off  Arane 
A  litill  forouth,'"  ewyn  gane. 

Thai  rowit  fast,  with  all  thair  mycht, 
Till  that  apon  thaim  fell  the  nycht. 
That  woux  myrk"  apon  gret  maner, 
Swa  that  thai  wyst  nocht  quhar  thai  wer. 

«  Spring.        »  Began.         '  Loftily.        *  Several.  «  Make.        «  Buds. 

»  Covering.  »  Bereaved.  »  Men.  ">  Before.  "  Dark. 

572 


NOTES 

For  thai  na  nedill  had,  na  stane; 
Bot  rowyt  alwayis  in  till  ane, 
Sterand  all  tyme  apon  the  fyr. 
That  thai  saw  brynnand  lycht  and  schyr.* 
It  wes  bot  auentur  2  thaim  led: 
And  thai  in  schort  tyme  sa  thaim  sped. 
That  at  the  fyr  arywyt  thai; 
And  went  to  land  bot  mar  delay. 
And  Cuthbert,  that  has  sene  the  fyr. 
Was  full  off  angyr,  and  off  ire: 
For  he  durst  nocht  do  it  away; 
And  wes  alsua  dowtand  ay 
That  his  lord  suld  pass  to  se. 
Tharfor  thair  cummyn  waytit  he; 
And  met  thaim  at  thair  arywing. 
He  wes  wele  sone  broucht  to  the  King, 
That  speryt  at  him  how  he  had  done. 
And  he  with  sar  hart  tauld  him  sone. 
How  that  he  fand  nane  weill  luffand; 
Bot  all  war  fayis,  that  he  fand : 
And  that  the  lord  the  Persy, 
With  ner  thre  hundre  in  cumpany. 
Was  in  the  castell  thar  besid, 
Fullfillyt  off  dispyt  and  prid. 
Bot  ma  than  twa  partis  off  his  rowt 
War  herberyt  in  the  toune  without; 
'  And  dyspytyt  yow  mar,  Schir  King, 
Than  men  may  dispyt  ony  thing.' 
Than  said  the  King,  in  full  gret  ire; 
'  Tratour,  quhy  maid  thow  than  the  fyr?' 
•  A!  Schyr,'  said  he,  '  sa  God  me  sel 
The  fyr  wes  newyr  maid  for  me. 
Na,  or  the  nycht,  I  wyst  it  nocht; 
Bot  fra  I  wyst  it,  weill  I  thocht 
That  ye,  and  haly  your  menye. 
In  hy'  suld  put  yow  to  the  se. 
For  thi  I  cum  to  mete  yow  her. 
To  tell  perellys  that  may  aper.' 

The  King  wes  off  his  spek  angry. 
And  askyt  his  prywe  men,  in  hy, 
Quhat  at  thaim  thoucht  wes  best  to  do. 
Schyr  Edward  fryst  answert  thar  to, 
Hys  brodyr  that  wes  swa  hardy. 
And  said;  '  I  say  yow  sekyrly 
Thar  sail  na  perell,  that  may  be. 
Dry ve  me  eftsonys  *  to  the  se. 
Myne  auentur  her  tak  will  I, 
Quhethir  it  be  esfuU  or  angry.' 
•  Brothyr,"  he  said,  '  sen  thou  will  sua. 
It  is  gud  that  we  samyn  ta 
Dissese  or  ese,  or  payne  or  play, 
Eftyr  as  God  will  ws  purway.* 

*  Clear.  '  Adventure.  •  Haste. 

•  Soon  after.  "  Prepare. 


573 


NOTES 

And  sen  men  sayis  that  the  Persy 
Myn  heretage  will  occupy; 
And  his  menye  sa  ner  ws  lyis. 
That  ws  dispytis  mony  wyss; 
Ga  we  and  wenge  '  sum  off  the  dispyte 
And  that  may  we  haiff  done  alss  tite;' 
For  thai  ly  traistly,^  but  dreding 
Off  ws,  or  off  our  her  cummyng. 
And  thoucht  we  slepand  slew  thaim  all, 
Repruff  tharof  na  man  sail. 
For  werrayour  na  forss  suld  ma,      i 
Quhethir  he  mycht  ourcom  his  fa 
Throw  strenth,  or  throw  sutelte; 
'.  Bot  that  gud  faith  ay  haldyn  be.' 

Barbour's  Bruce,  book  iv,  v.  I. 

Note  119,  p.  367 

The  following  are  the  words  of  an  ingenious  correspondent,  to 
whom  I  am  obliged  for  much  information  respecting  Turnberry 
and  its  neighbourhood,  'The  only  tradition  now  remembered 
of  the  landing  of  Robert  the  Bruce  in  Carrick,  relates  to  the  fire 
seen  by  him  from  the  Isle  of  Arran.  It  is  still  generally  reported, 
and  religiously  believed  by  many,  that  this  fire  was  really  the 
work  of  supernatural  power,  unassisted  by  the  hand  of  any 
mortal  being;  and  it  is  said,  that,  for  several  centuries,  the  flame 
rose  yearly  on  the  same  hour  of  the  same  night  of  the  year,  on 
which  the  king  first  saw  it  from  the  turrets  of  Brodick  castle; 
and  some  go  so  far  as  to  say,  that  if  the  exact  time  were  known, 
it  would  be  still  seen.  That  this  superstitious  notion  is  very 
ancient,  is  evident  from  the  place  where  the  fire  is  said  to  have 
appeared,  being  called  the  Bogles'  Brae,  beyond  the  remem- 
brance of  man.  In  support  of  this  curious  belief,  it  is  said  that 
the  practice  of  burning  heath  for  the  improvement  of  land  was 
then  unknown;  that  a spunkie  (Jack  o'  lanthorn)  could  not  have 
been  seen  across  the  breadth  of  the  Forth  of  Clyde,  between 
Ayrshire  and  Arran;  and  that  the  courier  of  Bruce  was  his  kins- 
man, and  never  suspected  of  treachery.'  (Letter  from  Mr. 
Joseph  Train,  of  Newton  Stuart,  author  of  an  ingenious  Col- 
lection of  Poems,  illustrative  of  many  ancient  Traditions  in 
Galloway  and  Ayrshire,  Edinburgh,  18 14.) 

•  Avenge.  '  Quickly.  >  Confidently, 

574 


NOTES 

Note  120,  p.  369 

The  Castle  of  Turnberry,  on  the  coast  of  Ayrshire,  was  the 
property  of  Robert  Bruce,  in  right  of  his  mother.  Lord  Hailes 
mentions  the  following  remarkable  circumstance  concerning  the 
mode  in  which  he  became  proprietor  of  it : '  Martha,  Countess  of 
Carrick  in  her  own  right,  the  wife  of  Robert  Bruce,  Lord  of 
Annandale,  bare  him  a  son,  afterwards  Robert  I  (nth  July, 
1274).  The  circumstances  of  her  marriage  were  singular:  hap- 
pening to  meet  Robert  Bruce  in  her  domains,  she  became 
enamoured  of  him,  and  with  some  violence  led  him  to  her 
castle  of  Turnberry.  A  few  days  after  she  married  him,  without 
the  knowledge  of  the  relations  of  either  party,  and  without  the 
requisite  consent  of  the  king.  The  king  instantly  seized  her 
castle  and  whole  estates:  She  afterwards  atoned  by  a  fine  for  her 
feudal  delinquency.  Little  did  Alexander  foresee,  that,  from 
this  union,  the  restorer  of  the  Scottish  monarchy  was  to  arise.' 
(Annals  of  Scotland,  11,  180.)  The  same  obliging  correspondent, 
whom  I  have  quoted  in  the  preceding  note,  gives  me  the  follow- 
ing account  of  the  present  state  of  the  ruins  of  Turnberry: 
'Turnberry  Point  is  a  rock  projecting  into  the  sea;  the  top  of  it 
is  about  eighteen  feet  above  highwater  mark.  Upon  this  rock 
was  built  the  castle.  There  is  about  twenty-five  feet  high  of  the 
wall  next  to  the  sea  yet  standing.  Upon  the  land-side  the  wall  is 
only  about  four  feet  high ;  the  length  has  been  sixty  feet,  and  the 
breadth  forty -five:  It  was  surrounded  by  a  ditch,  but  that  is  now 
nearly  filled  up.  The  top  of  the  ruin,  rising  between  forty  and 
fifty  feet  above  the  water,  has  a  majestic  appearance  from  the 
sea.  There  is  not  much  local  tradition  in  the  vicinity  connected 
v/ith  Bruce  or  his  history.  In  front,  however,  of  the  rock,  upon 
which  stands  Culzean  Castle,  is  the  mouth  of  a  romantic  cavern, 
called  the  Cove  of  Colean,  in  which  it  is  said  Bruce  and  his  fol- 
lowers concealed  themselves  immediately  after  landing,  till 
they  arranged  matters  for  their  farther  enterprises.  Burns 
mentions  it  in  the  poem  of  Hallowe'en.  The  only  place  to  the 
south  of  Turnberry  worth  mentioning,  with  reference  to  Bruce's 

575 


NOTES 

history,  is  the  Weary  Nuik,  a  little  romantic  green  hill,  where  he 
and  his  party  are  said  to  have  rested,  after  assaulting  the  castle.' 
Around  the  Castle  of  Turnberry  was  a  level  plain  of  about 
two  miles  in  extent,  forming  the  castle  park.  There  could  be 
nothing,  I  am  informed,  more  beautiful  than  the  copsewood  and 
verdure  of  this  extensive  meadow,  before  it  was  invaded  by  the 
ploughshare. 

Note  121,  p.  381 

I  have  followed  the  flattering  and  pleasing  tradition,  that  the 
Bruce,  after  his  descent  upon  the  coast  of  Ayrshire,  actually 
gained  possession  of  his  maternal  castle.  But  the  tradition  is 
not  accurate.  The  fact  is,  that  he  was  only  strong  enough  to 
alarm  and  drive  in  the  outposts  of  the  English  garrison,  then 
commanded,  not  by  Clifford,  as  assumed  in  the  text,  but  by 
Percy.  Neither  was  Clifford  slain  upon  this  occasion,  though 
he  had  several  skirmishes  with  Bruce.  He  fell  afterwards  in  the 
battle  of  Bannockburn.  Bruce,  after  alarming  the  castle  of 
Turnberry,  and  surprising  some  part  of  the  garrison,  who  were 
quartered  without  the  walls  of  the  fortress,  retreated  into  the 
mountainous  part  of  Carrick,  and  there  made  himself  so  strong, 
that  the  English  were  obliged  to  evacuate  Turnberry,  and  at 
length  the  Castle  of  Ayr.  Many  of  his  benefactions  and  royal 
gifts  attest  his  attachment  to  the  hereditary  followers  of  his 
house,  in  this  part  of  the  country. 

It  is  generally  known,  that  Bruce,  in  consequence  of  his 
distresses  after  the  battle  of  Methven,  was  affected  by  a 
scorbutic  disorder,  which  was  then  called  a  leprosy.  It  is  said 
he  experienced  benefit  from  the  use  of  a  medicinal  spring,  about 
a  mile  north  of  the  town  of  Ayr,  called  from  that  circumstance 
King's  Case.  The  following  is  the  tradition  of  the  country, 
collected  by  Mr.  Train:  'After  Robert  ascended  the  throne,  he 
founded  the  priory  of  Dominican  monks,  every  one  of  whom  was 
under  the  obligation  of  putting  up  to  Heaven  a  prayer  once  every 
week-day,  and  twice  in  holydays,  for  the  recovery  of  the  king; 
and,  after  his  death,  these  masses  were  continued  for  the  saving 


NOTES 

of  his  soul.  The  ruins  of  this  old  monastery  are  now  nearly  level 
with  the  ground.  Robert  likewise  caused  houses  to  be  built 
round  the  well  of  King's  Case,  for  eight  lepers,  and  allowed  eight 
bolls  of  oatmeal,  and  28/.  Scotch  money,  per  annum,  to  each 
person.  These  donations  were  laid  upon  the  lands  of  Fullarton, 
and  are  now  payable  by  the  Duke  of  Portland.  The  farm  of 
Shiels,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Ayr,  has  to  give,  if  required, 
a  certain  quantity  of  straw  for  the  lepers'  beds,  and  so  much 
to  thatch  their  houses  annually.  Each  leprous  person  had  a 
drinking-horn  provided  him  by  the  king,  which  continued  to  be 
hereditary  in  the  house  to  which  it  was  first  granted.  One  of 
those  identical  horns,  of  very  curious  workmanship,  was  in  the 
possession  of  the  late  Colonel  Fullarton  of  that  Ilk.' 

My  correspondent  proceeds  to  mention  some  curious  rem- 
nants of  antiquity  respecting  this  foundation.  '  In  compliment 
to  Sir  William  Wallace,  the  great  deliverer  of  his  country.  King 
Robert  Bruce  invested  the  descendants  of  that  hero  with  the 
right  of  placing  all  the  lepers  upon  the  establishment  of  King's 
Case.  This  patronage  continued  in  the  family  of  Craigie,  till  it 
was  sold  along  with  the  lands  of  the  late  Sir  Thomas  Wallace. 
The  burgh  of  Ayr  then  purchased  the  right  of  applying  the  dona- 
tions of  King's  Case  to  the  support  of  the  poor-house  of  Ayr. 
The  lepers'  charter-stone  was  a  basaltic  block,  exactly  the  shape 
of  a  sheep's  kidney,  and  weighing  an  Ayrshire  boll  of  meal.  The 
surface  of  this  stone  being  as  smooth  as  glass,  there  was  not  any 
other  way  of  lifting  it  than  by  turning  the  hollow  to  the  ground, 
there  extending  the  arms  along  each  side  of  the  stone,  and  clasp- 
ing the  hands  in  the  cavity.  Young  lads  were  always  considered 
as  deserving  to  be  ranked  among  men,  when  they  could  lift  the 
blue  stone  of  King's  Case.  It  always  lay  beside  the  well,  till  a 
few  years  ago,  when  some  English  dragoons  encamped  at  that 
place  wantonly  broke  it,  since  which  the  fragments  have  been 
kept  by  the  freemen  of  Prestwick  in  a  place  of  security.  There 
is  one  of  these  charter-stones  at  the  village  of  Old  Daily,  in 
Carrick,  which  has  become  more  celebrated  by  the  following 
event,  which  happened  only  a  very  few  years  ago:  The  village 

49  577 


NOTES 

of  New  Daily  being  now  larger  than  the  old  place  of  the  same 
name,  the  inhabitants  insisted  that  the  charter-stone  should  be 
removed  from  the  old  town  to  the  new,  but  the  people  of  Old 
Daily  were  unwilling  to  part  with  their  ancient  right.  Demands 
and  remonstrances  were  made  on  each  side  without  effect,  till 
at  last  man,  woman,  and  child,  of  both  villages,  marched  out, 
and  by  one  desperate  engagement  put  an  end  to  a  war,  the  com- 
mencement of  which  no  person  then  living  remembered.  Jus- 
tice and  victory,  in  this  instance,  being  of  the  same  party,  the 
villagers  of  the  old  town  of  Daily  now  enjoy  the  pleasure  of 
keeping  the  bliie-stane  unmolested.  Ideal  privileges  are  often 
attached  to  some  of  these  stones.  In  Girvan,  if  a  man  can  set 
his  back  against  one  of  the  above  description,  he  is  supposed 
not  liable  to  be  arrested  for  debt,  nor  can  cattle,  it  is  imagined, 
be  poinded  as  long  as  they  are  fastened  to  the  same  stone.  That 
stones  were  often  used  as  symbols  to  denote  the  right  of  possess- 
ing land,  before  the  use  of  written  documents  became  general 
in  Scotland,  is,  I  think,  exceedingly  probable.  The  charter- 
stone  of  Inverness  is  still  kept  with  great  care,  set  in  a  frame, 
and  hooped  with  iron,  at  the  market-place  of  that  town.  It  is 
called  by  the  inhabitants  of  that  district  Clack  na  Couddin. 
I  think  it  is  very  likely  that  Carey  has  mentioned  this  stone  in 
his  poem  of  Craig  Phaderick.  This  is  only  a  conjecture,  as  I 
have  never  seen  that  work.  While  the  famous  marble  chair  was 
allowed  to  remain  at  Scoon,  it  was  considered  as  the  charter- 
stone  of  the  kingdom  of  Scotland.' 

Note  122,  p.  382 

These  mazers  were  large  drinking-cups,  or  goblets.  Mention 
of  them  occurs  in  a  curious  inventory  of  the  treasure  and  jewels 
of  James  III,  which  will  be  published,  with  other  curious  docu- 
ments of  antiquity,  by  my  friend,  Mr.  Thomas  Thomson,  D. 
Register  of  Scotland,  under  the  title  of  *A  Collection  of  Inven- 
tories, and  other  Records  of  the  Royal  Wardrobe,  Jewel-House,' 
etc.  I  copy  the  passage,  in  which  mention  is  made  of  the  mazers, 

578 


NOTES 

and  also  of  a  habiliment,  called  'King  Robert  Bruce's  serk,'  i.e. 
shirt,  meaning,  perhaps,  his  shirt  of  mail;  although  no  other 
arms  are  mentioned  in  the  inventory.  It  might  have  been  a 
relic  of  more  sanctified  description,  a  penance  shirt  perhaps. 

Extract  from  'Inventare  of  ane  Parte  of  the  Gold  and  Silver 
conyeit  and  unconyeit,  Jowellis,  and  uther  Stuff  perteining  to 
Umquhile  oure  Soverane  Lords  Fader,  that  he  had  in  Depots 
the  Tyme  of  his  Deceis,  and  that  come  to  the  Handis  of  oure 
Soverane  Lord  that  now  is,  M.cccc.LXXXViii.' 

'Memorandum  fundin  in  a  bandit  kist  like  a  gardeviant,^  in  the 

fyrst  the  grete  chen>'e  ^  of  gold,  contenand  sevin  score  sex  linkis. 

Item,  thre  platis  of  silver. 

Item,  tuelf  salfatis.^ 

Item,  fyftene  discheis  ^  ouregilt. 

Item,  a  grete  gilt  plate. 

Item,  twa  grete  bassingis  ^  ouregilt. 

Item,  FOUR  Masaris,  called  King  Robert  the  Brocis,  with 
a  cover. 

Item,  a  grete  cok  maid  of  silver. 

Item,  the  hede  of  silver  of  ane  of  the  coveris  of  masar. 

Item,  a  fare  dialle.® 

Item,  twa  kasis  of  knyffis.' 

Item,  a  pare  of  auld  knifhs. 

Itetn,  takin  be  the  smyth  that  opinnit  the  lokkis,  in  gold  fourty 
demyis. 

Item,  in  Inglys  grotis  ^  .  .  .  xxiiii  li.  and  the  said  silver  given 
again  to  the  takaris  of  hym. 

Item,  ressavit  in  the  cloissat  of  Davidis  tour,  ane  haly  water-fat 
of  silver,  twa  boxis,  a  cageat  tume,  a  glas  with  rois-water,  a 
dosoune  of  torchis,  King  Robert  Brucis  Serk.' 

The  real  use  of  the  antiquarian's  studies  is  to  bring  the  minute 
information  which  he  collects  to  bear  upon  points  of  history.  For 

'  Garde-vin,  or  wine-cooler.  *  Chain. 

'  Salt-cellars,  anciently  the  object  of  much  curious  workmanship. 

♦  Dishes.        '  Basins.        '  Dial.      '  Cases  of  knives.  '  English  groats. 

579 


NOTES 

example,  in  the  inventory  I  have  just  quoted,  there  is  given  the 
contents  of  the  black  kist,  or  chest,  belonging  to  James  III, 
which  was  his  strong  box,  and  contained  a  quantity  of  treasure, 
in  money  and  jewels,  surpassing  what  might  have  been  at  the 
period  expected  of  'poor  Scotland's  gear.'  This  illustrates  and 
authenticates  a  striking  passage  in  the  history  of  the  house  of 
Douglas,  by  Hume  of  Godscroft.  The  last  Earl  of  Douglas  (of 
the  elder  branch)  had  been  reduced  to  monastic  seclusion  in  the 
Abbey  of  Lindores,  by  James  II.  James  III,  in  his  distresses, 
would  willingly  have  recalled  him  to  public  life,  and  made  him 
his  lieutenant.  'But  he,'  says  Godscroft,  'laden  with  years  and 
old  age,  and  weary  of  troubles,  refused,  saying.  Sir,  you  have 
keept  mee,  and  your  black  coffer  in  Sterling,  too  long,  neither  of 
us  can  doe  you  any  good:  I,  because  my  friends  have  forsaken 
me,  and  my  followers  and  dependers  are  fallen  from  me,  betak- 
ing themselves  to  other  masters;  and  your  black  trunk  is  too 
farre  from  you,  and  your  enemies  are  between  you  and  it:  or 
(as  others  say)  because  there  was  in  it  a  sort  of  black  coyne, 
that  the  king  had  caused  to  be  coyned  by  the  advice  of  his  cour- 
tiers; which  moneyes  (saith  he)  sir,  if  you  had  put  out  at  the 
first,  the  people  would  have  taken  it;  and  if  you  had  employed 
mee  in  due  time  I  might  have  done  you  service.  But  now  there 
is  none  that  will  take  notice  of  me,  nor  meddle  with  your  money.' 
(Hume's  History  of  the  House  oj  Douglas,  fol.  Edinburgh,  1644, 
p.  206.) 

Note  123,  p.  383 

As  soon  as  it  was  known  in  Kyle,  says  ancient  tradition,  that 
Robert  Bruce  had  landed  in  Carrick,  with  the  intention  of 
recovering  the  crown  of  Scotland,  the  Laird  of  Craigie,  and  forty- 
eight  men  in  his  immediate  neighbourhood,  declared  in  favour 
of  their  legitimate  prince.  Bruce  granted  them  a  tract  of  land, 
still  retained  by  the  freemen  of  Newton  to  this  day.  The  original 
charter  was  lost  when  the  pestilence  was  raging  at  Ayr;  but  it 
was  renewed  by  one  of  the  Jameses,  and  is  dated  at  Faulkland. 
The  freemen  of  Newton  were  formerly  ofificers  by  rotation.  The 

580 


NOTES 

Provost  of  Ayr  at  one  time  was  a  freeman  of  Newton,  and  it 
happened  to  be  his  turn,  while  provost  in  Ayr,  to  be  officer  in 
Newton,  both  of  which  offices  he  discharged  at  the  same  time. 

Note  124,  p.  383 

The  forest  of  Selkirk,  or  Ettrick,  at  this  period,  occupied  all 
the  district  which  retains  that  denomination,  and  embraced  the 
neighbouring  dales  of  Tweeddale,  and  at  least  the  Upper  Ward 
of  Clydesdale.  All  that  tract  was  probably  as  waste  as  it  is 
mountainous,  and  covered  with  the  remains  of  the  ancient  Cale- 
donian Forest,  which  is  supposed  to  have  stretched  from  Cheviot 
Hills  as  far  as  Hamilton,  and  to  have  comprehended  even  a 
part  of  Ayrshire.  At  the  fatal  battle  of  Falkirk,  Sir  John 
Stewart  of  Bonkill,  brother  to  the  Steward  of  Scotland,  com- 
manded the  archers  of  Selkirk  Forest,  who  fell  around  the  dead 
body  of  their  leader.  The  English  historians  have  commemo- 
rated the  tall  and  stately  persons,  as  well  as  the  unswerving 
faith,  of  these  foresters.  Nor  has  their  interesting  fall  escaped 
the  notice  of  an  elegant  modern  poetess,  whose  subject  led  her 
to  treat  of  that  calamitous  engagement. 

The  glance  of  the  mom  had  sparkled  bright 
On  their  plumage  green  and  their  actons  light; 
The  bugle  was  strung  at  each  hunter's  side, 
As  they  had  been  bound  to  the  chase  to  ride; 
But  the  bugle  is  mute,  and  the  shafts  are  spent. 
The  arm  unnerved  and  the  bow  unbent, 
And  the  tired  forester  is  laid 
Far,  far  from  the  clustering  greenwood  shade! 
Sore  have  they  toil'd  —  they  are  fallen  asleep. 
And  their  slumber  is  heavy,  and  dull,  and  deep! 
When  over  their  bones  the  grass  shall  wave. 
When  the  wild  winds  over  their  tombs  shall  rave, 
Memory  shall  lean  on  their  graves,  and  tell 
How  Selkirk's  hunters  bold  around  old  Stewart  fell! 
Wallace,  or  the  Fight  of  Falkirk  [by  Miss  Holford],  London,  4to,  1809,  pp.  170, 171. 

Note  125,  p.  385 

The  first  important  advantage  gained  by  Bruce,  after  landing 
at  Turnberry,  was  over  Aymer  de  Valence,  Earl  of  Pembroke, 

581 


NOTES 

the  same  by  whom  he  had  been  defeated  near  Methven.  They 
met,  as  has  been  said,  by  appointment,  at  Loudonhill,  in  the 
west  of  Scotland.  Pembroke  sustained  a  defeat ;  and  from  that 
time  Bruce  was  at  the  head  of  a  considerable  flying  army.  Yet 
he  was  subsequently  obliged  to  retreat  into  Aberdeenshire,  and 
was  there  assailed  by  Comyn,  Earl  of  Buchan,  desirous  to 
avenge  the  death  of  his  relative,  the  Red  Comyn,  and  supported 
by  a  body  of  English  troops  under  Philip  de  Moubray.  Bruce 
was  ill  at  the  time  of  a  scrofulous  disorder,  but  took  horse  to 
meet  his  enemies,  although  obliged  to  be  supported  on  either 
side.  He  was  victorious,  and  it  is  said  that  the  agitation  of  his 
spirits  restored  his  health. 

Note  126,  p.  385 

The  'good  Lord  James  of  Douglas,'  during  these  commotions, 
often  took  from  the  English  his  own  castle  of  Douglas,  but  being 
unable  to  garrison  it,  contented  himself  with  destroying  the 
fortifications,  and  retiring  into  the  mountains.  As  a  reward  to 
his  patriotism,  it  is  said  to  have  been  prophesied,  that  how  often 
soever  Douglas  Castle  should  be  destroyed,  it  should  always 
again  arise  more  magnificent  from  its  ruins.  Upon  one  of  these 
occasions  he  used  fearful  cruelty,  causing  all  the  store  of  provi- 
sions, which  the  English  had  laid  up  in  his  castle,  to  be  heaped 
together,  bursting  the  wine  and  beer-casks  among  the  wheat 
and  flour,  slaughtering  the  cattle  upon  the  same  spot,  and  upon 
the  top  of  the  whole  cutting  the  throats  of  the  English  prisoners. 
This  pleasantry  of  the  'good  Lord  James'  is  commemorate(3 
under  the  name  of  the  '  Douglas's  Larder.'  A  more  pleasing  tale 
of  chivalry  is  recorded  by  Godscroft.  'By  this  means,  and  such 
other  exploits,  he  so  afifrighted  the  enemy,  that  it  was  counted  a 
matter  of  great  jeopardie  to  keep  this  castle,  which  began  to  be 
called  the  "  adventurous  "  (or  hazardous)  "  Castle  of  Douglas  "; 
whereupon  Sir  John  Walton  being  in  suit  of  an  English  lady,  she 
wrote  to  him,  that  when  he  had  kept  the  adventurous  Castle  of 
Douglas  seven  years,  then  he  might  think  himself  worthy  to  be 

582 


NOTES 

a  suitor  to  her.  Upon  this  occasion  Walton  took  upon  him  the 
keeping  of  it,  and  succeeded  to  Thruswall,  but  he  ran  the  same 
fortune  with  the  rest  that  were  before  him.  For  Sir  James, 
having  first  dressed  an  ambuscado  near  unto  the  place,  he  made 
fourteen  of  his  men  take  so  many  sacks,  and  fill  them  with  grass, 
as  though  it  had  been  corn,  which  they  carried  in  the  way  to 
Lanark,  the  chief  market  town  in  that  county:  so  hoping  to 
draw  forth  the  captain  by  that  bait,  and  either  to  take  him  or 
the  castle,  or  both.  Neither  was  this  expectation  frustrated,  for 
the  captain  did  bite,  and  came  forth  to  have  taken  this  victual 
(as  he  supposed.)  But  ere  he  could  reach  these  carriers.  Sir 
James,  with  his  company,  had  gotten  between  the  castle  and 
him;  and  these  disguised  carriers,  seeing  the  captain  following 
after  them,  did  quickly  cast  off  their  sacks,  mounted  themselves 
on  horseback,  and  met  the  captain  with  a  sharp  encounter, 
being  so  much  the  more  amazed,  as  it  was  unlooked  for:  where- 
fore, when  he  saw  these  carriers  metamorphosed  into  warriors, 
and  ready  to  assault  him,  fearing  that  which  was,  that  there 
was  some  train  laid  for  them,  he  turned  about  to  have  retired  to 
his  castle,  but  there  he  also  met  with  his  enemies;  between  which 
two  companies  he  and  his  whole  followers  were  slain,  so  that  none 
escaped:  the  captain  afterwards  being  searched,  they  found  (as  it 
is  reported)  his  mistress's  letter  about  him.'  (Hume's  History 
of  the  House  of  Douglas,  fol.  pp.  29,  30,) 

Note  127,  p.  385 

'John  de  St.  John,  with  15,000  horsemen,  had  advanced  to 
oppose  the  inroad  of  the  Scots.  By  a  forced  march  he  endeav- 
oured to  surprise  them,  but  intelligence  of  his  motions  was 
timeously  received.  The  courage  of  Edward  Bruce,  approaching 
to  temerity,  frequently  enabled  him  to  achieve  what  men  of 
more  judicious  valour  would  never  have  attempted.  He  ordered 
the  infantry,  and  the  meaner  sort  of  his  army,  to  intrench  them- 
selves in  strong  narrow  ground.  He  himself,  with  fifty  horsemen 
well  harnessed,  issued  forth  under  cover  of  a  thick  mist,  sur- 

583 


NOTES 

prised  the  English  on  their  march,  attacked  and  dispersed  them.' 
(Dalrymple's  Annals  of  Scotland,  quarto,  Edinburgh,  1779, 
p.  25.) 

Note  128,  p.  385 

Thomas  Randolph,  Bruce's  sister's  son,  a  renowned  Scottish 
chief,  was  in  the  early  part  of  his  life  not  more  remarkable  for 
consistency  than  Bruce  himself.  He  espoused  his  uncle's  party 
when  Bruce  first  assumed  the  crown,  and  was  made  prisoner  at 
the  fatal  battle  of  Methven,  in  which  his  relative's  hopes 
appeared  to  be  ruined.  Randolph  accordingly  not  only  sub- 
mitted to  the  English,  but  took  an  active  part  against  Bruce, 
appeared  in  arms  against  him,  and  in  the  skirmish  where  he 
was  so  closely  pursued  by  the  bloodhound,  it  is  said  his  nephew 
took  his  standard  with  his  own  hand.  But  Randolph  was  after- 
wards made  prisoner  by  Douglas  in  Tweeddale,  and  brought 
before  King  Robert.  Some  harsh  language  was  exchanged 
between  the  uncle  and  nephew,  and  the  latter  was  committed 
for  a  time  to  close  custody.  Afterwards,  however,  they  were 
reconciled,  and  Randolph  was  created  Earl  of  Moray  about 
1312.  After  this  period  he  eminently  distinguished  himself,  first 
by  the  surprise  of  Edinburgh  Castle,  and  afterwards  by  many 
similar  enterprises,  conducted  with  equal  courage  and  ability. 

Note  129,  p.  387 

When  a  long  train  of  success,  actively  improved  by  Robert 
Bruce,  had  made  him  master  of  almost  all  Scotland,  Stirling 
Castle  continued  to  hold  out.  The  care  of  the  blockade  was 
committed  by  the  King  to  his  brother  Edward,  who  concluded  a 
treaty  with  Sir  Philip  Mowbray,  the  governor,  that  he  should 
surrender  the  fortress,  if  it  were  not  succoured  by  the  King  of 
England  before  St.  John  the  Baptist's  day.  The  King  severely 
blamed  his  brother  for  the  impolicy  of  a  treaty,  which  gave  time 
to  the  King  of  England  to  advance  to  the  relief  of  the  castle 
with  all  his  assembled  forces,  and  obliged  himself  either  to  meet 
them  in  battle  with  an  inferior  force,  or  to  retreat  with  dis- 

584 


NOTES 

honour.  'Let  all  England  come,'  answered  the  reckless  Edward; 
'we  will  fight  them  were  they  more.'  The  consequence  was,  of 
course,  that  each  kingdom  mustered  its  strength  for  the 
expected  battle;  and  as  the  space  agreed  upon  reached  from 
Lent  to  Midsummer,  full  time  was  allowed  for  that  purpose. 

Note  130,  p.  387 

There  is  printed  in  Rymer's  Fcedera  the  summons  issued  upon 
this  occasion  to  the  sheriff  of  York;  and  he  mentions  eighteen 
other  persons  to  whom  similar  ordinances  were  issued.  It  seems 
to  respect  the  infantry  alone,  for  it  is  entitled,  De  peditibtis  ad 
recussum  Castri  de  Stryvelin  a  Scotis  obsessi,  properare  faciendis. 
This  circumstance  is  also  clear  from  the  reasoning  of  the  writ, 
which  states:  'We  have  understood  that  our  Scottish  enemies 
and  rebels  are  endeavouring  to  collect  as  strong  a  force  as  pos- 
sible of  infantry,  in  strong  and  marshy  grounds,  where  the  ap- 
proach of  cavalry  would  be  difficult,  between  us  and  the  castle 
of  Stirling.'  It  then  sets  forth  Mowbray's  agreement  to  sur- 
render the  castle,  if  not  relieved  before  St.  John  the  Baptist's 
day,  and  the  King's  determination,  with  divine  grace,  to  raise 
the  siege.  'Therefore,' the  summons  further  bears,  'to  remove  our 
said  enemies  and  rebels  from  such  places  as  above  mentioned, 
it  is  necessary  for  us  to  have  a  strong  force  of  infantry  fit  for 
arms.'  And  accordingly  the  sheriff  of  York  is  commanded  to 
equip  and  send  forth  a  body  of  four  thousand  infantry,  to  be 
assembled  at  Werk,  upon  the  tenth  day  of  June  first,  under  pain 
of  the  royal  displeasure,  etc. 

Note  131,  p.  388 

Edward  I,  with  the  usual  policy  of  a  conqueror,  employed 
the  Welsh,  whom  he  had  subdued,  to  assist  him  in  his  Scottish 
wars,  for  which  their  habits,  as  mountaineers,  particularly  fitted 
them.  But  this  policy  was  not  without  its  risks.  Previous  to 
the  battle  of  Falkirk,  the  Welsh  quarrelled  with  the  English 
men-at-arms,  and  after  bloodshed  on  both  parts,  separated 

585 


NOTES 

themselves  from  his  army,  and  the  feud  between  them,  at  so 
dangerous  and  critical  a  juncture,  was  reconciled  with  difficulty. 
Edward  II  followed  his  father's  example  in  this  particular,  and 
with  no  better  success.  They  could  not  be  brought  to  exert 
themselves  in  the  cause  of  their  conquerors.  But  they  had  an 
indifferent  reward  for  their  forbearance.  Without  arms,  and 
clad  only  in  scanty  dresses  of  linen  cloth,  they  appeared  naked 
in  the  eyes  even  of  the  Scottish  peasantry;  and  after  the  rout  of 
Bannockburn,  were  massacred  by  them  in  great  numbers,  as 
they  retired  in  confusion  towards  their  own  country.  They 
were  under  command  of  Sir  Maurice  de  Berkeley. 

Note  132,  p.  388 

There  is  in  the  Fcedera  an  invitation  to  Eth  O'Connor,  chief 
of  the  Irish  of  Connaught,  setting  forth  that  the  king  was  about 
to  move  against  his  Scottish  rebels,  and  therefore  requesting  the 
attendance  of  all  the  force  he  could  muster,  either  commanded 
by  himself  in  person,  or  by  some  nobleman  of  his  race.  These 
auxiliaries  were  to  be  commanded  by  Richard  de  Burgh,  Earl  of 
Ulster.  Similar  mandates  were  issued  to  the  following  Irish 
chiefs,  whose  names  may  astonish  the  unlearned,  and  amuse  the 
antiquary. 

Eth  O  Donnuld,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Tyconil; 
Demod  O  Kahan,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Fernetrew; 
Doneval  O  Neel,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Tryowyn; 
Neel  Macbreen,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Kynallewan; 
Eth.  Offyn,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Turtery; 
Admely  Mac  Anegus,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Onehagh; 
Neel  O  Hanlan,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Erthere; 
Bien  Mac  Mahun,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Uriel; 
Lauercagh  Mac  Wyr,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Lougherin; 
Gillys  O  Railly,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Bresfeny; 
Geffrey  O  Fergy,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Montiragwil; 
Felyn  O  Honughur,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Connach; 

586 


4 


NOTES 

Donethuth  O  Bien,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Tothmund ; 

Dermod  Mac  Arthy,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Dessemound; 

Denenol  Carbragh; 

Maur.  Kenenagh  Mac  Murgh; 

Murghugh  O  Bryn; 

David  OTothvill; 

Dermod  O  Tonoghur,  Doffaly; 

Fyn  O  Dymsy; 

Souethuth  Mac  Gillephatrick ; 

Leyssagh  O  Morth; 

Gilbertus  Ekelly,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Omany; 

Mac  Ethelau ; 

Omalan  Helyn,  Duci  Hibernicorum  Midie.' 

Rymer's  Fcedera,  ill,  476,  477. 

Note  133,  p.  393 

Fitz-Louis,  or  Mac-Louis,  otherwise  called  Fullarton,  is  a 
family  of  ancient  descent  in  the  Isle  of  Arran.  They  are  said  to 
be  of  French  origin,  as  the  name  intimates.  They  attached 
themselves  to  Bruce  upon  his  first  landing;  and  Fergus  Mac- 
Louis,  or  Fullarton,  received  from  the  grateful  monarch  a 
charter,  dated  26th  November,  in  the  second  year  of  his  reign 
(1307).  for  the  lands  of  Kilmichel,  and  others,  which  still  remain 
in  this  very  ancient  and  respectable  family. 

Note  134,  p.  393 

The  arrangements  adopted  by  King  Robert  for  the  decisive 
battle  of  Bannockburn  are  given  very  distinctly  by  Barbour, 
and  form  an  edifying  lesson  to  tacticians.  Yet,  till  commented 
upon  by  Lord  Hailes,  this  important  passage  of  history  has  been 
generally  and  strangely  misunderstood  by  historians.  I  will 
here  endeavour  to  detail  it  fully. 

Two  days  before  the  battle,  Bruce  selected  the  field  of  action, 
and  took  post  there  with  his  army,  consisting  of  about  30,000 

587 


NOTES 

disciplined  men,  and  about  half  the  number  of  disorderly  attend- 
ants upon  the  camp.  The  ground  was  called  the  New  Park  of 
Stirling;  it  was  partly  open,  and  partly  broken  by  copses  of 
wood  and  marshy  ground.  He  divided  his  regular  forces  into 
Jour  divisions.  Three  of  these  occupied  a  front  line,  separated 
from  each  other,  yet  sufficiently  near  for  the  purposes  of  com- 
munication. The  fourth  division  formed  a  reserve.  The  line 
extended  in  a  north-easterly  direction  from  the  brook  of  Ban- 
nock, which  was  so  rugged  and  broken  as  to  cover  the  right 
flank  effectually,  to  the  village  of  Saint  Ninian's,  probably  in 
the  line  of  the  present  road  from  Stirling  to  Kilsyth.  Edward 
Bruce  commanded  the  right  wing,  which  was  strengthened  by 
a  strong  body  of  cavalry  under  Keith,  the  Mareschal  of  Scot- 
land, to  whom  was  committed  the  important  charge  of  attack- 
ing the  English  archers;  Douglas,  and  the  young  Steward  of 
Scotland,  led  the  central  wing;  and  Thomas  Randolph,  Earl  of 
Moray,  the  left  wing.  The  King  himself  commanded  the  fourth 
division,  which  lay  in  reserve  behind  the  others.  The  royal 
standard  was  pitched,  according  to  tradition,  in  a  stone,  having 
a  round  hole  for  its  reception,  and  thence  called  the  Bore-stone. 
It  is  still  shown  on  the  top  of  a  small  eminence,  called  Brock's- 
brae,  to  the  south-west  of  St.  Ninian's.  His  main  body  thus  dis- 
posed, King  Robert  sent  the  followers  of  the  camp,  fifteen 
thousand  and  upwards  in  number,  to  the  eminence  in  rear  of  his 
army,  called  from  that  circumstance  the  Gillies'  (i.e.,  the  serv- 
ants') Hill. 

The  military  advantages  of  this  position  were  obvious.  The 
Scottish  left  flank,  protected  by  the  brook  of  Bannock,  could 
not  be  turned ;  or,  if  that  attempt  were  made,  a  movement  by 
the  reserve  might  have  covered  it.  Again,  the  English  could  not 
pass  the  Scottish  army,  and  move  towards  Stirling,  without 
exposing  their  flank  to  be  attacked  while  in  march. 

If,  on  the  other  hand,  the  Scottish  line  had  been  drawn  up 
east  and  west,  and  facing  to  the  southward,  as  affirmed  by 
Buchanan,  and  adopted  by  Mr.  Nimmo,  the  author  of  the 
History  of  Stirlingshire,  there  appears  nothing  to  have  prevented 

588 


NOTES 

the  English  approaching  upon  the  carse,  or  level  ground,  from 
Falkirk,  either  from  turning  the  Scottish  left  flank,  or  from 
passing  their  position,  if  they  preferred  it,  without  coming  to  an 
action,  and  moving  on  to  the  relief  of  Stirling.  And  the  Gillies* 
Hill,  if  this  less  probable  hypothesis  be  adopted,  would  be  situ- 
ated, not  in  the  rear,  as  allowed  by  all  the  historians,  but  upon 
the  left  flank  of  Bruce's  army.  The  only  objection  to  the 
hypothesis  above  laid  down,  is,  that  the  left  flank  of  Bruce's 
army  was  thereby  exposed  to  a  sally  from  the  garrison  of  Stir- 
ling. But,  first,  the  garrison  were  bound  to  neutrality  by  terms 
of  Mowbray's  treaty;  and  Barbour  even  seems  to  censure,  as  a 
breach  of  faith,  some  secret  assistance  which  they  rendered  their 
countrymen  upon  the  eve  of  battle,  in  placing  temporary 
bridges  of  doors  and  spars  over  the  pools  of  water  in  the  carse, 
to  enable  them  to  advance  to  the  charge.^  Secondly,  Had  this 
not  been  the  case,  the  strength  of  the  garrison  was  probably  not 
sufficient  to  excite  apprehension.  Thirdly,  The  adverse  hypo- 
thesis leaves  the  rear  of  the  Scottish  army  as  much  exposed  to 
the  Stirling  garrison,  as  the  left  flank  would  be  in  the  case 
supposed. 

It  only  remains  to  notice  the  nature  of  the  ground  in  front  of 
Bruce's  line  of  battle.  Being  part  of  a  park,  or  chase,  it  was  con- 
siderably interrupted  with  trees;  and  an  extensive  marsh,  still 
visible,  in  some  places  rendered  it  inaccessible,  and  in  all  of 
difficult  approach.  More  to  the  northward,  where  the  natural 
impediments  were  fewer,  Bruce  fortified  his  position  against 
cavalry,  by  digging  a  number  of  pits  so  close  together,  says 
Barbour,  as  to  resemble  the  cells  in  a  honey-comb.  They  were  a 
foot  in  breadth,  and  between  two  and  three  feet  deep,  many 
rows  of  them  being  placed  one  behind  the  other.  They  were 
slightly  covered  with  brushwood  and  green  sods,  so  as  not  to  be 
obvious  to  an  impetuous  enemy. 

All  the  Scottish  army  were  on  foot,  excepting  a  select  body  of 
cavalry  stationed  with  Edward  Bruce  on  the  right  wing,  under 

'  An  assistance  which  (by  the  way)  could  not  have  been  rendered,  had  not  the 
English  approached  from  the  south-east;  since,  had  their  march  been  due  north, 
the  whole  Scottish  army  must  have  been  between  them  emd  the  garrison. 


NOTES 

the  immediate  command  of  Sir  Robert  Keith,  the  Marshal  of 
Scotland,  who  were  destined  for  the  important  service  of  charg- 
ing and  dispersing  the  English  archers. 

Thus  judiciously  posted,  in  a  situation  fortified  both  by  art 
and  nature,  Bruce  awaited  the  attack  of  the  English. 

Note  135,  p.  393 

Upon  the  23d  June,  13 14,  the  alarm  reached  the  Scottish 
army  of  the  approach  of  the  enemy.  Douglas  and  the  Marshal 
were  sent  to  reconnoitre  with  a  body  of  cavalry; 

And  soon  the  great  host  have  they  seen, 
Where  shields  shining  were  so  sheen, 
And  basinets  burnished  bright, 
That  gave  against  the  sun  great  light. 
They  saw  so  fele  '  brawdyne  ^  baners, 
Standards  and  pennons  and  spears, 
And  so  fele  knights  upon  steeds, 
All  flaming  in  their  weeds. 
And  so  fele  bataills,  and  so  broad. 
And  too  so  great  room  as  they  rode. 
That  the  maist  host,  and  the  stoutest 
Of  Christendom,  and  the  greatest, 
Should  be  abaysit  for  to  see 
Their  foes  into  such  quantity. 

The  Bruce,  vol.  ii,  p.  iir. 

The  two  Scottish  commanders  were  cautious  in  the  account 
which  they  brought  back  to  their  camp.  To  the  King  in  private 
they  told  the  formidable  state  of  the  enemy;  but  in  public 
reported  that  the  English  were  indeed  a  numerous  host,  but  ill 
commanded  and  worse  disciplined. 

Note  136,  p.  394 

The  men  of  Argyle,  the  islanders,  and  the  Highlanders  in 
general,  were  ranked  in  the  rear.  They  must  have  been  numer- 
ous, for  Bruce  had  reconciled  himself  with  almost  all  their  chief- 
tains, excepting  the  obnoxious  MacDougals  of  Lorn.  The  follow- 
ing deed,  containing  the  submission  of  the  potent  Earl  of  Ross  to 

>  Many.  '  Displayed. 


NOTES 

the  King,  was  never  before  published.   It  is  dated  in  the  third 
year  of  Robert's  reign,  that  is,  1309. 

'Obligacio  Comitis  Rossensis  per  Homagium  Fidelitatem  et 
Scriphim 

'Universis  christi  fidelibus  ad  quorum  noticiam  presentes 
litere  peruenerint  VVillielmus  Comes  de  Ross  salutem  in  domino 
sempiternam.  Quia  magnificus  princeps  Dominus  Robertus  dei 
gracia  Rex  Scottorum  Dominus  meus  ex  innata  sibi  bonitate, 
inspirataque  clemencia,  et  gracia  speciali  remisit  michi  pure 
rancorem  animi  sui,  et  ralaxauit  ac  condonauit  michi  omni- 
modas  transgressiones  seu  ofTensas  contra  ipsum  et  suos  per 
me  et  meos  vsque  ad  confeccionem  literarum  presencium  per- 
petratas:  Et  terras  meas  et  tenementa  mea  omnia  graciose 
concessit.  Et  me  nichilominus  de  terra  de  Dingwal  et  fern- 
croskry  infra  comitatum  de  Suthyrland  de  benigna  liberalitate 
sua  heriditarie  infeodare  curauit.  Ego  tantam  principis  beneuo- 
lenciam  efificaciter  attendens,  et  pro  tot  graciis  michi  factis, 
vicem  sibi  gratitudinis  meis  pro  viribus  de  cetero  digne  .  .  . 
vite  cupiens  exhibere,  subicio  et  oblige  me  et  heredes  meos  et 
homines  meos  vniuersos  dicto  Domino  meo  Regi  per  omnia  .  .  . 
erga  suam  regiam  dignitatem,  quod  erimus  de  cetero  fideles  sibi 
et  heredibus  suis  et  fidele  sibi  seruicium  auxilium  et  concilium 
.  .  .  contra  omnes  homines  et  feminas  qui  vivere  poterint  aut 
mori,  et  super  h  .  .  .  Ego  VVillielmus  pro  me  .  .  .  hominibus 
meis  vniuersis  dicto  domino  meo  Regi  .  .  .  manibus  homagium 
sponte  feci  et  super  dei  ewangelia  sacramentum  prestiti.  .  .  . 
In  quorum  omnium  testimonium  sigillum  meum,  et  sigilla 
Hugonis  filii  et  heredis  et  Johannis  filii  mei  vna  cum  sigillis 
venerabilium  patrum  Dominorum  Dauid  et  Thome  Moraviensis 
et  Rossensis  dei  gracia  episcoporum  presentibus  literis  sunt 
appensa.  Acta  scripta  et  data  apud  Aldern  in  Morauia  vltimo 
die  mensis  Octobris,  Anno  Regni  dicti  domini  nostri  Regis 
Roberti  Tertio.  Testibus  venerabilibus  patribus  supradictis. 
Domino  Bernardo  Cancellario  Regis,  Dominis  Willielmo  de 
Haya,  Johanne  de  Striuelyn,  Willielmo  Wysman,  Johanne  de 

591 


NOTES 

Ffenton,  Dauid  de  Berkeley,  et  Waltero  de  Berkeley  militibus, 
magistro  Waltero  Heroc,  Decano  ecclesie  Morauie,  magistro 
WilHelmo  de  Creswel  eiusdem  ecclesie  precentore  et  multis  aliis 
nobilibus  clericis  et  laicis  dictis  die  et  loco  congregatis.' 

The  copy  of  this  curious  document  was  supplied  by  my  friend, 
Mr.  Thomson,  Deputy  Register  of  Scotland,  whose  researches 
into  our  ancient  records  are  daily  throwing  new  and  important 
light  upon  the  history  of  the  country. 

Note  137,  p.  396 

The  English  vanguard,  commanded  by  the  Earls  of  Gloucester 
and  Hereford,  came  in  sight  of  the  Scottish  army  upon  the  even- 
ing of  the  23d  of  June.  Bruce  was  then  riding  upon  a  little 
palfrey,  in  front  of  his  foremost  line,  putting  his  host  in  order. 
It  was  then  that  the  personal  encounter  took  place  betwixt  him 
and  Sir  Henry  de  Bohun,  a  gallant  English  knight,  the  issue  of 
which  had  a  great  effect  upon  the  spirits  of  both  armies.  It  is 
thus  recorded  by  Barbour:  — 

And  quhen  Glosyster  and  Herfurd  war 

With  thair  bataill,  approchand  ner, 

Befor  thaim  all  thar  come  o'dand. 

With  helm  on  heid,  and  sper  in  hand 

Schyr  Henry  the  Boune,  the  worth!, 

That  wes  a  wycht  knycht,  and  a  hardy; 

And  to  the  Erie  off  Herfurd  cusyne: 

Armyt  in  armys  gud  and  fyne; 

Come  on  a  sted,  a  bow  schote  ner, 

Befor  all  othyr  that  thar  wer: 

And  knew  the  King,  for  that  he  saw 

Him  swa  rang  his  men  on  raw; 

And  by  the  croune,  that  wes  set 

Alsiia  apon  his  bassynet. 

And  towart  him  he  went  in  hy. 

And  [quhen]  the  King  sua  apertly 

Saw  him  cum,  forouth  all  his  feris,* 

In  hy  '  till  him  the  hors  he  steris. 

And  quhen  Schyr  Henry  saw  the  King 

Cum  on,  for  owtyn  abaysing,' 

Till  him  he  raid  in  full  gret  hy. 

He  thoucht  that  he  suld  will  lychtly 

»  Cemrades.  •  Haste.  •  Without  shrinking. 


NOTES 

Wyn  him,  and  haf  him  at  his  will. 
Sen  he  him  horsyt  saw  sa  ill. 
Sprent '  thai  samyn  in  till  a  ling.' 
Schyr  Henry  myssit  the  noble  king. 
And  he,  that  in  his  sterapys  stud, 
With  the  ax  that  wes  hard  and  gud. 
With  sa  gret  mayne '  raucht  him  a  dynt, 
That  nothyr  hat,  na  helm,  mycht  stynt 
The  hewy*  dusche^  that  he  him  gave. 
That  ner  the  heid  till  the  harnys  clave. 
The  hand  ax  shaft  fruschit'  in  twa; 
And  he  doune  to  the  erd  gan  ga 
All  flatlynys,'  for  him  faillyt  mycht. 
This  wes  the  fryst  strak  off  the  fycht. 

Barbour's  Bruce,  book  vm,  v.  684. 

The  Scottish  leaders  remonstrated  with  the  King  upon  his 
temerity.  He  only  answered,  *I  have  broken  my  good  battle- 
axe.'  The  English  vanguard  retreated  after  witnessing  this 
single  combat.  Probably  their  generals  did  not  think  it  advis- 
able to  hazard  an  attack,  while  its  unfavourable  issue  remained 
upon  their  minds. 

Note  138,  p.  402 

While  the  van  of  the  English  army  advanced,  a  detached  body 
attempted  to  relieve  Stirling.  Lord  Hailes  gives  the  following 
account  of  this  manoeuvre  and  the  result,  which  is  accompanied 
by  circumstances  highly  characteristic  of  the  chivalrous  man- 
ners of  the  age,  and  displays  that  generosity  which  reconciles 
us  even  to  their  ferocity  upon  other  occasions. 

Bruce  had  enjoined  Randolph,  who  commanded  the  left  wing 
of  his  army,  to  be  vigilant  in  preventing  any  advanced  parties  of 
the  English  from  throwing  succours  into  the  castle  of  Stirling. 

'Eight  hundred  horsemen,  commanded  by  Sir  Robert  Clifford, 
were  detached  from  the  English  army;  they  made  a  circuit  by 
the  low  grounds  to  the  east,  and  approached  the  castle.  The 
King  perceived  their  motions,  and  coming  up  to  Randolph, 
angrily  exclaimed,  "Thoughtless  man!  you  have  suffered  the 
enemy  to  pass."  Randolph  hasted  to  repair  his  fault,  or  perish. 
As  he  advanced,  the  English  cavalry  wheeled  to  attack  him. 

*  Spurred.  »  Line.  «  Strength,  or  force. 

«  Heavy.  •  Clash.  •  Broke.  '  Flat. 

*»  593 


NOTES 

Randolph  drew  up  his  troops  in  a  circular  form,  with  their  spears 
resting  on  the  ground,  and  protended  on  every  side.  At  the 
first  onset.  Sir  William  Daynecourt,  an  English  commander  of 
distinguished  note,  was  slain.  The  enemy,  far  superior  in  num- 
bers to  Randolph,  environed  him,  and  pressed  hard  on  his  little 
band.  Douglas  saw  his  jeopardy,  and  requested  the  king's 
permission  to  go  and  succour  him.  "You  shall  not  move  from 
your  ground,"  cried  the  King;  "let  Randolph  extricate  himself 
as  he  best  may.  I  will  not  alter  my  order  of  battle,  and  lose  the 
advantage  of  my  position."  "In  truth,"  replied  Douglas,  "I 
cannot  stand  by  and  see  Randolph  perish;  and,  therefore,  with 
your  leave,  I  must  aid  him."  The  King  unwillingly  consented, 
and  Douglas  f^ew  to  the  assistance  of  his  friend.  While  approach- 
ing, he  perceived  that  the  English  were  falling  into  disorder, 
and  that  the  perseverance  of  Randolph  had  prevailed  over  their 
impetuous  courage.  "Halt,"  cried  Douglas,  "those  brave  men 
have  repulsed  the  enemy;  let  us  not  diminish  their  glory  by 
sharing  it. " '  (Dalrymple's  Annals  of  Scotland,  4to,  Edinburgh, 

1779,  pp.  44,  45-) 

Two  large  stones  erected  at  the  north  end  of  the  village  of 
Newhouse,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  south  part  of 
Stirling,  ascertain  the  place  of  this  memorable  skirmish.  The 
circumstance  tends,  were  confirmation  necessary,  to  support 
the  opinion  of  Lord  Hailes,  that  the  Scottish  line  had  Stirling 
on  its  left  flank.  It  will  be  remembered,  that  Randolph  com- 
manded infantry,  Daynecourt  cavalry.  Supposing,  therefore, 
according  to  the  vulgar  hypothesis,  that  the  Scottish  line  was 
drawn  up,  facing  to  the  south,  in  the  line  of  the  brook  of  Ban- 
nock, and  consequently  that  Randolph  was  stationed  with  his 
left  flank  resting  upon  Milntown  bog,  it  is  morally  impossible 
that  his  infantry,  moving  from  that  position,  with  whatever 
celerity,  could  cut  off"  from  Stirling  a  body  of  cavalry  who  had 
already  passed  St.  Ninian's,^  or,  in  other  words,  were  already 
between  them  and  the  town.  Whereas,  supposing  Randolph's 

>  Barbour  says  expressly,  they  avoided  the  New  Park,  (where  Bruce 's  army 
lay,)  and  held  'well  neath  the  Kirk.'  which  can  only  mean  St.  Ninian's. 

594 


NOTES 

left  to  have  approached  Saint  Ninian's,  the  short  movement 
to  Newhouse  could  easily  be  executed,  so  as  to  intercept  the 
English  in  the  manner  described. 

Note  139,  p.  405 

There  is  an  old  tradition,  that  the  well-known  Scottish  tune  of 
'Hey,  tutti  taitti,'  was  Bruce 's  march  at  the  battle  of  Bannock- 
burn.  The  late  Mr.  Ritson,  no  granter  of  propositions,  doubts 
whether  the  Scots  had  any  martial  music,  quotes  Froissart's  ac- 
count of  each  soldier  in  the  host  bearing  a  little  horn,  on  which, 
at  the  onset,  they  would  make  such  a  horrible  noise,  as  if  all  the 
devils  of  hell  had  been  among  them.  He  observes,  that  these 
horns  are  the  only  music  mentioned  by  Barbour,  and  concludes, 
that  it  must  remain  a  moot  point  whether  Bruce's  army  were 
cheered  by  the  sound  even  of  a  solitary  bagpipe.  {Historical 
Essay  prefixed  to  Ritson' s  Scottish  Songs.)  It  may  be  observed 
in  passing,  that  the  Scottish  of  this  period  certainly  observed 
some  musical  cadence,  even  in  winding  their  horns,  since  Bruce 
was  at  once  recognised  by  his  followers  from  his  mode  of 
blowing.  See  Note  11 1.  But  the  tradition,  true  or  false,  has 
been  the  means  of  securing  to  Scotland  one  of  the  finest  lyrics 
in  the  language,  the  celebrated  war-song  of  Burns,  —  'Scots, 
wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled.' 

Note  140,  p.  405 

Upon  the  24th  of  June,  the  English  army  advanced  to  the 
attack.  The  narrowness  of  the  Scottish  front,  and  the  nature  of 
the  ground,  did  not  permit  them  to  have  the  full  advantage  of 
their  numbers,  nor  is  it  very  easy  to  find  out  what  was  their 
proposed  order  of  battle.  The  vanguard,  however,  appeared 
a  distinct  body,  consisting  of  archers  and  spearmen  on  foot,  and 
commanded,  as  already  said,  by  the  Earls  of  Gloucester  and 
Hereford.  Barbour,  in  one  place,  mentions  that  they  formed 
nine  battles,  or  divisions;  but  from  the  following  passage,  it 


595 


NOTES 

appears  that  there  was  no  room  or  space  for  them  to  extend 
themselves,  so  that,  except  the  vanguard,  the  whole  army 
appeared  to  form  one  solid  and  compact  body :  — 

The  English  men,  on  either  party. 

That  as  angels  shone  brightly. 

Were  not  arrayed  on  such  manner: 

For  all  their  battles  samyn'  were 

In  a  schiltrum.2  But  whether  it  was 

Through  the  great  straitness  of  the  place 

That  they  were  in,  to  bide  fighting; 

Or  that  it  was  for  abaysing; ' 

I  wete  not.   But  in  a  schiltrum 

It  seemed  they  were  all  and  some; 

Out  ta'en  the  vaward  anerly,* 

That  right  with  a  great  company. 

Be  them  selwyn,  arrayed  were. 

Who  had  been  by,  might  have  seen  there 

That  folk  ourtake  amekill  feild 

On  breadth,  where  many  a  shining  shield, 

And  many  a  burnished  bright  armour, 

And  many  a  man  of  great  valour. 

Might  in  that  great  schiltrum  be  seen: 

And  many  a  bright  banner  and  sheen.' 

Barbour's  Bruce,  vol.  ii,  p.  137. 


Note  141,  p.  406 

*  'Maurice,  Abbot  of  Inchaffray,  placing  himself  on  an  emi- 
nence, celebrated  mass  in  sight  of  the  Scottish  army.  He  then 
passed  along  the  front,  barefooted,  and  bearing  a  crucifix  in  his 
hands,  and  exhorting  the  Scots  in  few  and  forcible  words,  to  com- 
bat for  their  rights  and  their  liberty.  The  Scots  kneeled  down. 
"They  yield,"  cried  Edward;  "see,  they  implore  mercy."  "They 

>  Together. 

«  Schillrum.  —  This  word  has  been  variously  limited  or  extended  in  its  significa- 
tion. In  general,  it  seems  to  imply  a  large  body  of  men  drawn  up  very  closely  to- 
gether. But  it  has  been  limited  to  imply  a  round  or  circular  body  of  men  so 
drawn  up.  I  cannot  understand  it  with  this  limitation  in  the  present  case.  The 
schiltrum  of  the  Scottish  army  at  Falkirk  was  undoubtedly  of  a  circular  form,  in 
order  to  resist  the  attacks  of  the  English  cavalry,  on  whatever  quarter  they 
might  be  charged.  But  it  does  not  appear  how,  or  why,  the  English,  advancing 
to  the  attack  at  Bannockbum,  should  have  arrayed  themselves  in  a  circular 
form.  It  seems  more  probable,  that,  by  Schiltrum  in  the  present  case,  Barbour 
means  to  express  an  irregular  mass  into  which  the  English  army  was  compressed 
by  the  unwieldiness  of  its  numbers,  and  the  carelessness  or  ignorance  of  its  leaders. 

'  Frightening. 

*  Alone. 


596 


NOTES 

do,"  answered  Ingelram  de  Umfraville,  "but  not  ours.  On  that 
field  they  will  be  victorious,  or  die.'"  (Ajinals  of  Scotland,  ii, 
47-) 

Note  142,  p.  408 

The  English  archers  commenced  the  attack  with  their  usual 
bravery  and  dexterity.  But  against  a  force,  whose  importance 
he  had  learned  by  fatal  experience,  Bruce  was  provided.  A 
small  but  select  body  of  cavalry  were  detached  from  the  right, 
under  command  of  Sir  Robert  Keith.  They  rounded,  as  I  con- 
ceive, the  marsh  called  Milntown  bog,  and,  keeping  the  firm 
ground,  charged  the  left  flank  and  rear  of  the  English  archers. 
As  the  bowmen  had  no  spears,  nor  long  weapons,  fit  to  defend 
themselves  against  horse,  they  were  instantly  thrown  into  dis- 
order, and  spread  through  the  whole  English  army  a  confusion, 
from  which  they  never  fairly  recovered. 

The  Inglis  archeris  schot  sa  fast. 

That  mycht  thair  schot  hafi  ony  last, 

It  had  bene  hard  to  Scottis  men. 

Bot  King  Robert,  that  wele  gan  ken  ' 

That  thair  archeris  war  peralouss, 

And  thair  schot  rycht  hard  and  grewouss, 

Ordanyt,  forouth  2  the  assemble, 

Hys  marschell  with  a  gret  menye, 

Fyve  hundre  armyt  in  to  stele, 

That  on  lycht  horss  war  horsyt  welle, 

For  to  pryk'  amang  the  archeris; 

And  swa  assaile  thaim  with  thair  speris. 

That  thai  na  layser  haiff  to  schute. 

This  marschell  that  Ik  of  mute,* 

That  Schyr  Robert  of  Keyth  was  cauld. 

As  Ik  befor  her  has  yow  tauld, 

Quhen  he  saw  the  bataillis  sua 

Assembill,  and  to  gidder  ga, 

And  saw  the  archeris  schoyt  stoutly; 

With  all  thaim  off  his  cumpany, 

In  hy  apon  thaim  gan  he  rid; 

And  our  tuk  thaim  at  a  sid;6 

And  ruschyt  amang  thaim  sa  rudly, 

Stekand  thaim  sa  dispitously, 

And  in  sic  fusoun^  berand  doun. 

And  slayand  thaim,  for  owtyn  ransoun;^ 

That  thai  thaim  scaly t^  euirilkane.' 

•  Know.  '  Disjoined  from  the  main  body.  '  Spur. 

*  That  I  speak  of.  "  Set  upon  their  flank.  '  Numbers. 

'  Ransom,  '  Dispersed.  »  Every  one. 


597 


NOTES 

And  fra  that  tyme  furth  thar  wes  nane 
That  assemblyt  schot  to  ma.' 
Quhen  Scottis  archeris  saw  that  thai  sua 
War  rebutyt,^  thai  woux  hardy, 
And  with  all  thair  mycht  schot  egrely 
Amang  the  horss  men,  that  thar  raid; 
And  woundis  wid  to  thaim  thai  maid; 
And  slew  of  thaim  a  full  gret  dele. 

Barbour's  Bruce,  book  ix,  v.  228 

Although  the  success  of  this  manoeuvre  was  evident,  it  is  very 
remarkable  that  the  Scottish  generals  do  not  appear  to  have 
profited  by  the  lesson.  Almost  every  subsequent  battle  which 
they  lost  against  England,  was  decided  by  the  archers,  to  whom 
the  close  and  compact  array  of  the  Scottish  phalanx  afforded 
an  exposed  and  unresisting  mark.  The  bloody  battle  of  Hali- 
doun  Hill,  fought  scarce  twenty  years  afterwards,  was  so  com- 
pletely gained  by  the  archers,  that  the  English  are  said  to  have 
lost  only  one  knight,  one  esquire,  and  a  few  foot-soldiers.  At 
the  battle  of  Neville's  Cross,  in  1346,  where  David  II  was 
defeated  and  made  prisoner,  John  de  Graham,  observing  the 
loss  which  the  Scots  sustained  from  the  English  bowmen, 
offered  to  charge  and  disperse  them,  if  a  hundred  men-at-arms 
were  put  under  his  command.  'But,  to  confess  the  truth,'  says 
Fordun,  *  he  could  not  procure  a  single  horseman  for  the  service 
proposed.'  Of  such  little  use  is  experience  in  war,  where  its 
results  are  opposed  by  habit  or  prejudice. 

Note  143,  p.  409 

Roger  Ascham  quotes  a  similar  Scottish  proverb,  'whereby 
they  give  the  whole  praise  of  shooting  honestly  to  Englishmen, 
saying  thus,  "that  every  English  archer  beareth  under  his 
girdle  twenty-four  Scottes."  Indeed  Toxophilus  says  before, 
and  truly  of  the  Scottish  nation,  "The  Scottes  surely  be  good 
men  of  warre  in  theyre  owne  feates  as  can  be;  but  as  for  shoot- 
inge,  they  can  neither  use  it  to  any  profite,  nor  yet  challenge 
it  for  any  praise."'  {Works  of  Ascham,  edited  by  Bennet,  4to, 
p.  no.) 

>  Make.  '  Driven  back. 


NOTES 

It  is  said,  I  trust  incorrectly,  by  an  ancient  English  historian, 
that  the  '  good  Lord  James  of  Douglas '  dreaded  the  superiority 
of  the  English  archers  so  much,  that  when  he  made  any  of  them 
prisoner,  he  gave  him  the  option  of  losing  the  forefinger  of  his 
right  hand,  or  his  right  eye,  either  species  of  mutilation  render- 
ing him  incapable  to  use  the  bow.  I  have  mislaid  the  reference 
to  this  singular  passage. 

Note  144,  p.  410 

It  is  generally  alleged  by  historians,  that  the  English  men-at- 
arms  fell  into  the  hidden  snare  which  Bruce  had  prepared  for 
them.  Barbour  does  not  mention  the  circumstance.  According 
to  his  account,  Randolph,  seeing  the  slaughter  made  by  the 
cavalry  on  the  right  wing  among  the  archers,  advanced  cour- 
ageously against  the  main  body  of  the  English,  and  entered 
into  close  combat  with  them.  Douglas  and  Stuart,  who  com- 
manded the  Scottish  centre,  led  their  division  also  to  the  charge, 
and  the  battle  becoming  general  along  the  whole  line,  was 
obstinately  maintained  on  both  sides  for  a  long  space  of  time; 
the  Scottish  archers  doing  great  execution  among  the  English 
men-at-arms,  after  the  bowmen  of  England  were  dispersed. 

Note  145,  p.  410 

I  have  been  told  that  this  line  requires  an  explanatory  note; 
and,  indeed,  those  who  witness  the  silent  patience  with  which 
horses  submit  to  the  most  cruel  usage,  may  be  permitted  to 
doubt,  that,  in  moments  of  sudden  or  intolerable  anguish,  they 
utter  a  most  melancholy  cry.  Lord  Erskine,  in  a  speech  made 
in  the  House  of  Lords,  upon  a  bill  for  enforcing  humanity 
towards  animals,  noticed  this  remarkable  fact,  in  language 
which  I  will  not  mutilate  by  attempting  to  repeat  it.  It  was 
my  fortune,  upon  one  occasion,  to  hear  a  horse,  in  a  moment  of 
agony,  utter  a  thrilling  scream,  which  I  still  consider  the  most 
melancholy  sound  I  ever  heard. 

599 


NOTES 

Note  146,  p.  414 

When  the  engagement  between  the  main  bodies  had  lasted 
some  time,  Bruce  made  a  decisive  movement,  by  bringing  up  the 
Scottish  reserve.  It  is  traditionally  said,  that  at  this  crisis,  he 
addressed  the  Lord  of  the  Isles  in  a  phrase  used  as  a  motto  by 
some  of  his  descendants, '  My  trust  is  constant  in  thee.'  Barbour 
intimates,  that  the  reserve  'assembled  on  one  field,'  that  is,  on 
the  same  line  with  the  Scottish  forces  already  engaged;  which 
leads  Lord  Hailes  to  conjecture  that  the  Scottish  ranks  must 
have  been  much  thinned  by  slaughter,  since,  in  that  circum- 
scribed ground,  there  was  room  for  the  reserve  to  fall  into  the 
line.  But  the  advance  of  the  Scottish  cavalry  must  have  con- 
tributed a  good  deal  to  form  the  vacancy  occupied  by  the 
reserve. 

Note  147,  p.  416 

The  followers  of  the  Scottish  camp  observed,  from  the 
Gillies'  Hill  in  the  rear,  the  impression  produced  upon  the 
English  army  by  the  bringing  up  of  the  Scottish  reserve,  and, 
prompted  by  the  enthusiasm  of  the  moment,  or  the  desire  of 
plunder,  assumed,  in  a  tumultuary  manner,  such  arms  as  they 
found  nearest,  fastened  sheets  to  tent-poles  and  lances,  and 
showed  themselves  like  a  new  army  advancing  to  battle. 

Yomen,  and  swanys,»  and  pitaill,' 

That  in  the  Park  yemyt  wictaill,' 

War  left;  quhen  thai  wyst  but  lesing,* 

That  thair  lordis,  with  fell  fechtyng, 

On  thair  fayis  assemblyt  wer; 

Ane  off  thaim  selwyn '  that  war  thar 

Capitane  of  thaim  all  thai  maid. 

And  schetis,  that  war  sumedele'  brad, 

Thai  festnyt  in  steid  off  baneris, 

Apon  lang  treys  and  speris: 

And  said  that  thai  wald  se  the  fycht; 

And  help  thair  lordis  at  thair  mycht. 

Quhen  her  till  all  assentyt  wer. 

In  a  rout  assemblit  er; ' 

Fyftene  thowsand  thai  war,  or  ma. 

And  than  in  gret  hy  gan  thai  ga, 

'  Swains.  '  Rabble.  »  Kept  the  provisions. 

*  Lying.  '  Selves.  •  Somewhat.  '  Are. 

600 


NOTES 

With  thair  baneris,  all  in  a  rout. 
As  thai  had  men  bene  styth  '  and  stout. 
Thai  come,  with  all  that  assembl6, 
Rycht  quhill  thai  mycht  the  bataill  se; 
Than  all  at  anys  thai  gave  a  cry, 
'Slai  Sla!  Apon  thaim  hastily!' 

Barbour's  Bruce,  Book  IX,  v.  410.    \ 

The  unexpected  apparition,  of  what  seemed  a  new  army,  com- 
pleted the  confusion  which  already  prevailed  among  the  Eng- 
lish, who  fled  in  every  direction,  and  were  pursued  with  immense 
slaughter.  The  brook  of  Bannock,  according  to  Barbour,  was  so 
choked  with  the  bodies  of  men  and  horses,  that  it  might  have 
been  passed  dry-shod.  The  followers  of  the  Scottish  camp  fell 
upon  the  disheartened  fugitives,  and  added  to  the  confusion 
and  slaughter.  Many  were  driven  into  the  Forth,  and  perished 
there,  which,  by  the  way,  could  hardly  have  happened,  had  the 
armies  been  drawn  up  east  and  west,  since,  in  that  case,  to  get 
at  the  river,  the  English  fugitives  must  have  fled  through  the 
victorious  army.  About  a  short  mile  from  the  field  of  battle  is  a 
place  called  the  Bloody  Folds.  Here  the  Earl  of  Gloucester  is 
said  to  have  made  a  stand,  and  died  gallantly  at  the  head  of  his 
own  military  tenants  and  vassals.  He  was  much  regretted  by 
both  sides ;  and  it  is  said  the  Scottish  would  gladly  have  saved 
his  life,  but,  neglecting  to  wear  his  surcoat  with  armorial  bear- 
ings over  his  armour,  he  fell  unknown,  after  his  horse  had  been 
stabbed  with  spears. 

Sir  Marmaduke  Twenge,  an  English  knight,  contrived  to  con- 
ceal himself  during  the  fury  of  the  pursuit,  and  when  it  was 
somewhat  slackened,  approached  King  Robert.  'Whose  pris- 
oner are  you.  Sir  Marmaduke? '  said  Bruce,  to  whom  he  was  per- 
sonally known.  'Yours,  sir,'  answered  the  knight.  'I  receive 
you,'  answered  the  King,  and,  treating  him  with  the  utmost 
courtesy,  loaded  him  with  gifts,  and  dismissed  him  without 
ransom.  The  other  prisoners  were  all  well  treated.  There  might 
be  policy  in  this,  as  Bruce  would  naturally  wish  to  acquire  the 
good  opinion  of  the  English  barons,  who  were  at  this  time  at 
great  variance  with  their  king.  But  it  also  well  accords  with  his 

high  chivalrous  character. 

«  Stifi. 

6oi 


NOTES 

Note  148,  p.  416 

Edward  II,  according  to  the  best  authorities,  showed,  in  the 
fatal  field  of  Bannockburn,  personal  gallantry  not  unworthy  of 
his  great  sire  and  greater  son.  He  remained  on  the  field  till 
forced  away  by  the  Earl  of  Pembroke,  when  all  was  lost.  He 
then  rode  to  the  Castle  of  Stirling,  and  demanded  admittance; 
but  the  governor,  remonstrating  upon  the  imprudence  of  shut- 
ting himself  up  in  that  fortress,  which  must  so  soon  surrender,  he 
assembled  around  his  person  five  hundred  men-at-arms,  and, 
avoiding  the  field  of  battle  and  the  victorious  army,  fled 
towards  Linlithgow,  pursued  by  Douglas  with  about  sixty  horse. 
They  were  augmented  by  Sir  Lawrence  Abernethy  with  twenty 
more,  whom  Douglas  met  in  the  Torwood  upon  their  way  to 
join  the  English  army,  and  whom  he  easily  persuaded  to  desert 
the  defeated  monarch,  and  to  assist  in  the  pursuit.  They  hung 
upon  Edward's  flight  as  far  as  Dunbar,  too  few  in  number  to 
assail  him  with  effect,  but  enough  to  harass  his  retreat  so  con- 
stantly, that  whoever  fell  an  instant  behind,  was  instantly  slain, 
or  made  prisoner.  Edward's  ignominious  flight  terminated  at 
Dunbar,  where  the  Earl  of  March,  who  still  professed  allegiance  | 
to  him,  'received  him  full  gently.'  From  thence,  the  monarch  v 
of  so  great  an  empire,  and  the  late  commander  of  so  gallant  and  .' 
numerous  an  army,  escaped  to  Bamborough  in  a  fishing  vessel.    . 

Bruce,  as  will  appear  from  the  following  document,  lost  no 
time  in  directing  the  thunders  of  parliamentary  censure  against 
such  part  of  his  subjects  as  did  not  return  to  their  natural 
allegiance  after  the  battle  of  Bannockburn. 

Apud  Monasterium  de  Cambuskenneth,  ■ 

vi  die  novembris,  m,ccc,xiv. 

Judicium  Reditum  apud  Kamhuskinet  contra  omnes  illos  qui  tunc 
fuerunt  contra  fidem  et  pacem  Domini  Regis. 

Anno  grade  millesimo  tricentisimo  quarto  decimo  sexto  die 
Novembris  tenente  parliamentum  suum  Excellentissimo  prin- 

602 


NOTES 

cipe  Domino  Roberto  Dei  gracia  Rege  Scottorum  Illustri  In 
monasterio  de  Cambuskyneth  concordatum  fuit  finaliter 
Judicatum  [ac  super]  hoc  statutum  de  Concilio  et  Assensu 
Episcoporum  et  ceterorum  Prelatorum  Comitum  Baronum  et 
aliorum  nobilium  regni  Scocie  nee  non  et  tocius  communitatis 
regni  predicti  quod  omnes  qui  contra  fidem  et  pacem  dicti 
domini  regis  in  bello  seu  alibi  mortui  sunt  [vel  qui  die]  to  die  ad 
pacem  ejus  et  fidem  non  venerant  licet  sepius  vocati  et  legitime 
expectati  fuissent  de  terris  et  tenementis  et  omni  alio  statu  infra 
regnum  Scocie  perpetuo  sint  exheredati  et  habeantur  de  cetero 
tanquam  inimici  Regis  et  Regni  ab  omni  vendicacione  juris 
hereditarii  vel  juris  alterius  cujuscunque  in  posterum  pro  se  et 
heredibus  suis  in  perpetuum  privati  Ad  perpetuam  igitur  rei 
memoriam  et  evidentem  probacionem  hujus  Judicii  et  Statuti 
sigilla  Episcoporum  et  aliorum  Prelatorum  nee  non  et  comitum 
Baronum  ac  ceterorum  nobilium  dicti  Regni  present!  ordina- 
cioni  Judicio  et  statuto  sunt  appensa. 

Sigillum   Domini  Regis 

Sigillum  Willelmi  Episcopi  Sancti  Andree 

Sigillum   Roberti  Episcopi  Glascuensis 

Sigillum  Willelmi  Episcopi  Dunkeldensis 

.     .     .      Episcopi 

.     .     .      Episcopi 

.     .     .      Episcopi . 

Sigillum  Alani  Episcopi  Sodorensis 

Sigillum  Johannis  Episcopi  Brechynensis 

Sigillum  Andree  Episcopi  Ergadiensis 

Sigillum   Frechardi  Episcopi  Cathanensis 

Sigillum   Abbatis  de  Scona 

Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Calco 

Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Abirbrothok 

Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Sancta  Cruce 

Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Londoris 

Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Newbotill 

Sigillum   Abbatis  de  Cupro 

Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Paslet 

603 


NOTES 

Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Dunfermelyn 

Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Lincluden 

Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Insula  Missarum 

Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Sancto  Columba 

Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Deer 

Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Dulce  Corde 

Sigillum  Prions  de  Coldinghame 

Sigillum  Prioris  de  Rostynot 

Sigillum  Prioris  Sancte  Andree 

Sigillum  Prioris  de  Pettinwem 

Sigillum  Prioris  de  Insula  de  Lochlevin 

Sigillum  Senescalli  Scocie 

Sigillum  Willelmi  Comitis  de  Ros 


Sigillum  Gilbert!  de  la  Haya  Constabularii  Scocie 

Sigillum  Roberti  de  Keth  Mariscalli  Scocie 

Sigillum  Hugonis  de  Ros 

Sigillum  Jacobi  de  Duglas 

Sigillum  Johannis  de  Sancto  Clare 

Sigillum  Thome  de  Ros 

Sigillum  Alexandri  de  Settone 

Sigillum  Walteri  Haliburtone 

Sigillum  Davidis  de  Balfour 

Sigillum  Duncani  de  Wallays 

Sigillum  Thome  de  Dischingtone 

Sigillum  Andree  de  Moravia 

Sigillum  Archibald!  de  Betun 

Sigillum  Ranulphi  de  Lyill 

Sigilium  Malcomi  de  Balfour 

Sigillum  Normanni  de  Lesley 

Sigillum  Nigelli  de  Campo  bello 

Sigillum  Morni  de  Musco  Campo 


i 


I 


604 


NOTES 

Note  149,  p.  420 

The  remarkable  circumstances  attending  the  death  of  De 
Argentine  have  been  already  noticed  (Note  77).  Besides  this 
renowned  warrior,  there  fell  many  representatives  of  the  noblest 
houses  in  England,  which  never  sustained  a  more  bloody  and  dis- 
astrous defeat.  Barbour  says  that  two  hundred  pairs  of  gilded 
spurs  were  taken  from  the  field  of  battle ;  and  that  some  were  left 
the  author  can  bear  witness,  who  has  in  his  possession  a  curious 
antique  spur,  dug  up  in  the  morass,  not  long  since. 

It  wes  forsuth  a  gret  ferly. 
To  se  samyni  sa  fele  dede  lie. 
Twa  hundre  payr  of  spuria  reid,' 
War  tane  of  knichtis  that  war  deid. 

I  am  now  to  take  my  leave  of  Barbour,  not  without  a  sincere 
wish  that  the  public  may  encourage  the  undertaking  of  my  friend 
Dr.  Jamieson,  who  has  issued  proposals  for  publishing  an  accu- 
rate edition  of  his  poem,  and  of  Blind  Harry's  Wallace.  The 
only  good  edition  of  The  Bruce  was  published  by  Mr.  Pinkerton, 
in  3  vols.,  in  1790;  and,  the  learned  editor  having  had  no  per- 
sonal access  to  consult  the  manuscript,  it  is  not  without  errors; 
and  it  has  besides  become  scarce.  Of  Wallace  there  is  no  toler- 
able edition;  yet  these  two  poems  do  no  small  honour  to  the 
early  state  of  Scottish  poetry,  and  The  Bruce  is  justly  regarded 
as  containing  authentic  historical  facts. 

The  following  list  of  the  slain  at  Bannockburn,  extracted  from 
the  continuator  of  Trivet's  Annals,  will  show  the  extent  of  the 
national  calamity. 

List  of  the  Slain 
Barons  and  Knights  Bannerets 

Gilbert  de  Clare,  Earl  of  Gloucester,  John  de  Montfort, 

Robert  de  Clifford,  Nicolas  de  Hasteleigh, 

Payan  Tybetot,  William  Dayncourt, 

William  Le  Mareschal,  iEgidius  de  Argenteyne, 

John  Comyn,  Edmond  Comyn, 

William  de  Vescey,  John  Lovel  (the  rich), 

«  Together.  «  Red,  or  gilded. 

605 


NOTES 


Edmund  de  Hastynge, 
Milo  de  Stapleton, 
Simon  Ward, 


Henry  de  Boun, 
Thomas  de  Ufford, 
John  de  Elsingfelde, 
John  de  Harcourt, 
Walter  de  Hakelut, 
Philip  de  Courtenay, 


Robert  de  Felton, 
Michael  Poyning, 
Edmund  Maulley. 


Knights 


Hugo  de  Scales, 
Radulph  de  Beauchamp, 
John  de  Penbrigge, 

With  thirty-three  others  of  the  same 
rank,  not  named. 


Prisoners 
Barons  and  Baronets 


Henry  de  Boun,  Earl  of  Hereford, 

Lord  John  Giffard, 

William  de  Latimer, 

Maurice  de  Berkley, 

Ingelram  de  Umfraville, 

Marmaduke  de  Twenge, 

John  de  Wyletone, 

Robert  de  Maulee, 

Henry  Fitz-Hugh, 

Thomas  de  Gray, 

Walter  de  Beauchamp, 


Thomas  de  Berkeley, 
The  son  of  Roger  Tyrrel, 
Anselm  de  Mareschal, 
Giles  de  Beauchamp, 
John  de  Cyfrewast, 
John  Bluwet, 
Roger  Corbet, 
Gilbert  de  Boun, 
Bartholomew  de  Enefeld, 
Thomas  de  Ferrers, 
Radulph  and  Thomas  Bottetort, 
John  and  Nicholas  de  Kingstoae 
(brothers),  , 


Richard  de  Charon, 
John  de  Wevelmton, 
Robert  de  Nevil, 
John  de  Segrave, 
Gilbert  Peeche, 
John  de  Clavering, 
Antony  de  Lucy, 
Radulph  de  Caraya, 
John  de  Evere, 
Andrew  de  Abremhyn. 


Knights 


William  Lovel, 

Henry  de  Wileton, 

Baldwin  de  Fevrill, 

John  de  Clivedon,> 

Adomar  la  Zouche, 

John  de  Merewode, 

John  Maufe,2 

Thomas  and  Odo  Lele  Ercedekene, 

Robert  Beaupel  (the  son), 

John  Mautravers  (the  son), 

William      and    William    Giffard,    and 

thirty-four  other  knights,  not  named 

by  the  historian. 


And  in  sum  there  were  there  slain,  along  with  the  Earl  of 
Gloucester,  forty-two  barons  and  bannerets.  The  number  of 
earls,  barons,  and  bannerets  made  captive,  was  twenty-two, 
and  sixty-eight  knights.  Many  clerks  and  esquires  were  also 
there  slain  or  taken.  Roger  de  Northburge,  keeper  of  the  King's 
*  Supposed  Clinton.  >  Maule. 


606 


NOTES 

signet  (Custos  TargicB  Domini  Regis),  was  made  prisoner  with 
his  two  clerks,  Roger  de  VVakenfelde  and  Thomas  de  Switon, 
upon  which  the  King  caused  a  seal  to  be  made,  and  entitled  it 
his  'privy  seal,'  to  distinguish  the  same  from  the  signet  so  lost. 
The  Earl  of  Hereford  was  exchanged  against  Bruce's  queen, 
who  had  been  detained  in  captivity  ever  since  the  year  1306. 
The  Targia,  or  signet,  was  restored  to  England,  through  the 
intercession  of  Ralph  de  Monthermer,  ancestor  of  Lord  Moira, 
who  is  said  to  have  found  favour  in  the  eyes  of  the  Scottish 
king.  (Continuation  of  Trivet's  Annals,  Hall's  edit.  Oxford, 
1712,  II,  p.  14.) 

Such  were  the  immediate  consequences  of  the  field  of  Ban- 
nockburn.  Its  more  remote  effects,  in  completely  establishing 
the  national  independence  of  Scotland,  afford  a  boundless  field 
for  speculation. 


GLOSSARY 


abbaye,  an  abbey. 

aboon,  above. 

abye,  atone  for. 

acton,  a  buckram  vest  worn  ander 
armour. 

ain,  own. 

air,  a  sand-bank. 

airn,  iron. 

almagest,  an  astronomical  or  astro- 
logical treatise. 

Almayn,  German. 

amice,  an  ecclesiastical  vestment. 

amrie,  ambry,  a  cupboard,  a  locker. 

an,  if. 

ance,  once. 

ane,  one. 

anerly,  alone. 

aneugh,  enough. 

angel,  an  old  English  gold  coin. 

arquebus,  a  hagbut,  or  heavy  musket. 

assagay,  a  slender  spear  or  lance. 

atabal,  a  kind  of  kettle-drum. 

auld,  old;  auld  Reekie,  Edinburgh. 

aventayle,  the  movable  front  of  a 
helmet. 

avoid  thee,  begone. 

bairn,  a  child. 

baith,  both. 

baldric,  a  belt. 

bale,  a  beacon-fire. 

ballium,  a  fortified  court. 

bandelier,  a  belt  for  carrying  ammu- 
nition. 

ban-dog,  a  watch-dog. 

bandrol,  a  kind  of  banner  or  ensign. 

banes,  bones. 

bang,  strike  violently,  beat,  surpass. 

barbican,  the  fortification  at  a  castle- 
gate. 

barded,  armoured  (said  of  horses). 

barding,  horse-armour. 

barret-cap,  a  cloth  cap. 

bartizan,  a  small  overhanging  turret. 


basnet,  basinet,  a  light  helmet, 
bassened,  having  a  white  stripe  down 

the  face. 
battalia,  a  battalion,  an  army  {not  a 

plural), 
battle,  an  army. 
beadsman,  one  hired  to  offer  prayers 

for  another. 
beamed,  having  a  horn  of  the  fourth 

year. 
beaver,  the  movable  front  of  a  helmet. 
Beltane,  the  first  of  May  (a  Celtic 

festival). 
bend,  bind. 

bend  (noun),  a  heraldic  term, 
bent,  a  slope;  also,  aimed, 
beshrew,  may  evil  befall,  confound, 
bicker,  a  cup,  a  wooden  vessel, 
bickering,  quivering,  flashing. 
bill,  a  kind  of  battle-axe  or  halberd, 
billmen,  troops  armed  with  the  bill, 
black-jack,  a  leather  jug  or  pitcher, 
blaze,  blazon,  proclaim, 
blink,  a  glimpse. 
bluidy,  bloody. 
bonaU,  i.  e.,  bonallez,  a  god-speed, 

parting  with  a  friend. 
bonnet-pieces,  gold  coins  with  the 

king's  cap  (bonnet)  on  them, 
boot  and  bale,  help  and  hurt. 
boune,  bowne,  prepare,  make  ready, 
boune, ready,  prepared. 
bountith,  a  gratuity. 
bourd,  a  jest. 

bow  o'  kye,  a  herd  of  cattle, 
bower,  a  chamber,  a  lodging-place, 

a  lady's  apartments. 
bra',  braw,  brave. 
brach,  a  bitch-hound, 
bracken,  fern. 
brae,  a  hillside. 
braid,  broad. 
branking,  prancing,    i 
brast,  burst. 


49 


609 


GLOSSARY 


bratchet,  a  slowhound. 

brigantine,  a  kind  of  body  armour. 

brigg,  a  bridge. 

brock,  a  badger. 

broke,  quartered  (the  cutting  up  of 

a  deer). 
brose,  broth, 
brotikins,  buskins, 
bufif,  a  thick  cloth. 
burn,  burnie,  a  brook, 
busk,  dress,  prepare. 
buxom,  lively. 
by  times,  betimes,  early. 

caird,  a  tinker. 

cairn,  a  heap  of  stones,  a  rocky  point. 

canna,  cotton-grass. 

cantle,  the  crown. 

canty,  cheerful,  lively. 

cap  of  maintenance,  a  cap  worn  by 
the  king-at-arms  or  chief  herald. 

carle,  a  fellow. 

carline,  a  woman,  a  witch. 

carp,  talk. 

cast,  a  pair  (of  hawks). 

causey,  a  causeway. 

chanters,  the  pipes  of  the  bagpipe. 

check  at,  meditate  attack  (in  fal- 
conry). 

cheer,  face,  countenance. 

claymore,  a  large  sword. 

clerk,  a  scholar. 

clip,  clasp,  embrace. 

clout,  mend. 

cogie,  a  small  wooden  bowl. 

combust,  an  astrological  term. 

corbel,  a  bracket. 

coronach,  a  dirge. 

correi,  a  hollow  in  a  hillside,  a  resort 
of  game. 

crabs,  crab-apples. 

craig,  the  head. 

crenell,  an  aperture  for  shooting  ar- 
rows through. 

cresset,  a  hanging  lamp  or  chande- 
lier. 

crouse,  bold. 

cuish,  a  thigh-piece  of  armour. 

culver,  a  small  cannon. 

ciunber,  trouble. 


cummer,  a  gossip,  an  intimate  friend, 
curch,  a  matron's  coif,  or  head-dress, 
cushat-dove,  a  wood-pigeon, 
cutty,  short. 

daggled,  bespattered. 

darkling,  in  the  dark. 

daunder,  saunter,  wander. 

daunton,  subdue,  tame. 

deas,  a  dais,  a  platform. 

deft,  skilful. 

demi-volt,  a  movement  in  horseman- 
ship. 

dem,  hid. 

dight,  decked,  dressed,  prepared. 

dingle,  a  closely  wooded  hollow. 

dinna,  do  not. 

dinnle,  tinkle,  thrill. 

dint,  strike,  knock. 

dirdum,  an  uproar. 

donjon,  the  main  tower  or  keep  of  a 
castle. 

doom,  judgment,  arbitration. 

double  tressure,  a  kind  of  border  in 
heraldry. 

dought,  was  able,  could. 

down,  a  hill. 

downa,  do  not. 

dramock,  meal  and  water. 

drie,  suffer,  endure. 

drouth,  thirst. 

duddies,  rags,  tatters. 

dwam,  a  swoon,  a  fainting  fit. 

earn,  erne,  an  eagle, 
ebiu-nine,  made  of  ivory, 
een,  eyes. 

embossed,exhausted  by  running,  foam- 
ing at  the  mouth  (hunter's  term), 
emprise,  enterprise. 
ensenzie,  an  ensign,  a  war-cry. 
even,  spotless,  pure. 

failzie,  failure. 

falcon,  a  kind  of  small  cannon. 

fand,  found. 

fang,  to  catch. 

far  yaud,  the  signal  made  by  a  shep- 
herd to  his  dog,  when  he  is  to  drive 
away  some  sheep  at  a  distance. 


1 


6lO 


GLOSSARY 


Pastern's  night,  Shrove  Tuesday. 

fauld,  a  sheepfold. 

fay,  faith. 

ferlie,  a  marvel. 

fieldfare,  a  species  of  thrush. 

fleech,  flatter,  cajole. 

flemens-firth,  an  asylum  for  outlaws. 

foray,  a  predatory  inroad. 

force,  a  waterfall. 

fosse,  a  ditch,  a  moat. 

fou,  full,  tipsy. 

frae,  from. 

fretted,  adorned  with  raised  work. 

fro,  from. 

frounced,  flounced,  plaited. 

gae,  go;  gaed,  went, 
gaitling,  a  young  child. 
galUard,  a  lively  dance, 
gallowglasses,  heavy-armed  soldiers 

(Celtic). 
gane,  gone, 
gang,  go. 
gar,  make. 
gazehound,  a  hound  that  pursues  by 

sight  rather  than  scent. 
gear,  goods,  possessions. 
gent,  high-born,  vahant  and  courteous, 
gest,  a  deed,  an  exploit, 
ghast,  ghastly. 
gie,  give. 
gin,  if. 
gipon,  a  doublet  or  jacket  worn  under 

armour. 
glaive,  a  broadsword, 
glamour,  a  magical  illusion, 
glee-maiden,  a  dancing-girl, 
gleg,  quick,  sharp,  lively, 
glidders,  slippery  stones, 
glozing,  flattering. 
gonfalone,  a  banner  or  ensign, 
gorged,  having  the  throat  cut. 
gorget,  armour  for  the  throat, 
graith,  armour, 
gramarye,  magic, 
gramercy,    great    thanks    (French, 

grand  merci). 
gree,   grie,  prize. 

greese,  fat;  hart  of  greese,  a  fat  hart, 
greet  and  grane,  weep  and  groan. 


gripple,  grasping,  miserly, 
grisly,  horrible,  grim. 
guarded,  edged,  trimmed. 
gude,  good. 
gules,  red  (heraldic). 
gylte,  a  young  sow. 

hackbuteer,  a  soldier  armed  with 
hackbut  or  hagbut,  a  musketeer. 

hae't,  haet,  an  atom. 

haffets,  cheeks. 

hag,  broken  ground  in  a  bog. 

hagbut  (hackbut,  haquebut,  arque- 
bus, harquebuss,  etc.),  a  heavy 
musket. 

halberd,  halbert,  a  combined  spear 
and  battle-axe. 

hale,  haul,  drag. 

hame,  home. 

handsel,  a  gift,  earnest  money. 

hanger,  a  short  broadsword. 

harried,  plundered,  sacked. 

baud,  hold. 

hearse,  a  canopy  over  a  tomb,  or  the 
tomb  itself. 

heeze,  heise,  hoist,  raise. 

hent,  seize. 

heriot,  tribute  due  to  a  lord  from  a 
vassal. 

heron-shew,  a  young  heron. 

hight,  called,  named,  promised. 

holt,  wood,  woodland. 

hosen,  hose  (old  plural). 

howf,  howff,  a  haunt,  a  resort. 

idlesse,  idleness. 
ilka,  each,  every. 
imp,  a  child. 
inch,  an  island. 

jack,  a  leather  Jacket,  a  kind  of  ar- 
mour for  the  body. 

jennet,  a  small  Spanish  horse. 

jerkin,  a  kind  of  short  coat. 

jerrid,  a  wooden  javelin  about  five 
feet  long. 

jowing,  ringing  or  tolling. 

kale,  broth, 
kebbuck,  cheese. 


6ii 


GLOSSARY 


keek,  peep. 

ken,  know. 

kern,  a  light-armed  soldier  (Celtic). 

kill,  a  cell. 

kipper,  salmon  or  sea  trout. 

kirk,  a  church. 

kirn,  the  Scottish  harvest-home. 

kirtle,  a  skirt,  a  gown. 

kist,  a  chest. 

kittle,  ticklish,  delicate. 

knosp,  a  knob  (architectural). 

knowe,  a  knoll,  a  hillock. 

kye,  cows. 

lair,  learning. 

lair,  to  stick  in  the  mud. 

largesse,  largess,  liberality,  gift. 

lauds,  psalms. 

launcegay,  a  kind  of  spear. 

laverock,  a  lark. 

leading-staff,  a  staff  carried  by  a 
commanding  officer. 

leaguer,  a  camp. 

leal-fast,  loyal,  faithful. 

leash,  a  thong  for  leading  a  grey- 
hound; also  the  hounds  so  led. 

leister,  to  spear. 

leven,  a  lawn,  an  open  space  between 
or  among  woods. 

leveret,  a  young  hare. 

levin,  lightning,  thunderbolt. 

libbard,  a  leopard. 

Lincoln  green,  a  cloth  worn  by  hunts- 
men. 

linn,  a  waterfall,  a  pool  below  a  fall, 
a  precipice. 

linstock,  lintstock,  a  handle  for  the 
lint  or  match  used  in  firing  cannon. 

lists,  the  enclosure  for  a  tournament. 

litherlie,  mischievous,  vicious. 

loon,  a  rogue,  a  strumpet. 

loot,  let. 

lorn,  lost. 

loup,  leap. 

lourd,  rather. 

lout,  bend,  stoop. 

lurch,  rob. 

lurcher,  a  dog  that  lurches  (lurks),  or 
lies  in  wait  for  game. 

lurdane,  a  blockhead. 


lyke-wake,  the  watching  of  a  corpse 

before  burial. 
lyme-dog,  a  bloodhound. 

mair,  more. 

make,  do. 

malison,  a  malediction,  a  curse. 

Malvoisie,  Malmsey  wine. 

march,  a  border,  a  frontier. 

march-treason,   offences   committed 

on  the  Border, 
massy,  massive, 
maukin,  a  hare, 
maun,  must, 
mavis,  the  thrush. 

mazers,  large  drinking  cups  or  goblets, 
meikle,  much,  great. 
mell,  melle,  meddle. 
merk,  a  Scottish  coin  worth  about 

merle,  the  blackbird, 
merlin,  a  species  of  falcon, 
mewed,  shut  up,  confined. 
mickle,  much,  great. 
minion,  favourite, 
miniver,  a  kind  of  fur. 
mirk,  dark. 
mony,  many. 

moonlight,  smuggled  spirits, 
morion,  a  steel  cap,  a  helmet, 
morrice-pike,  a  long  heavy  spear, 
morris,  a  kind  of  dance, 
morsing-homs,  powder-flasks, 
moss,  a  morass,  a  bog. 
mot,  mote,  must,  might, 
muckle,  much,  large, 
muir,  a  moor,  a  heath, 
mullet,  a  figure  of  a  star,  usually  with 
five  straight  points. 

nae,  no. 

need-fire,  a  beacon-fire. 

neist,  next. 

nese,  a  nose. 

oe,  an  island. 

O  hone,  alas! 

Omrahs,  nobles  (Turkish). 

or,  gold  (heraldic). 

orra,  odd,  occasional. 


6l2 


GLOSSARY 


owches,  jewels, 
ower,  over,  too. 

pall,  fine  or  rich  cloth. 

pallioun,  a  pavilion. 

palmer,  a  pilgrim  to  the  Holy  Land. 

pardoner,  a  seller  of  priestly  indul- 
gences. 

partisan,  a  halberd,  a  combination  of 
spear  and  battle-axe. 

peel,  a  Border  tower. 

pensils,  small  pennons  or  streamers. 

pentacle,  a  magic  diagram. 

pibroch,  a  Highland  air  on  the  bag- 
pipe. 

pied,  variegated. 

pike,  pick. 

pinnet,  a  pinnacle. 

pirn,  a  spool,  a  reel. 

placket,  a  stomacher,  a  petticoat,  a 
slit  in  a  petticoat,  etc. 

plate-jack,  coat-armour. 

plump,  a  body  of  cavalry,  a  group,  a 
company. 

poke,  a  sack,  a  pocket. 

port,  a  lively  tune,  a  catch. 

post  and  pair,  an  old  game  at  cards. 

pow,  a  head. 

pranked,  dressed  up,  adorned. 

presence,  the  royal  presence-chamber. 

pricked,  spurred. 

pricker,  a  horseman,  a  mounted 
soldier. 

propine,  a  present. 

prore,  the  prow. 

pryse,  the  note  blown  at  the  death 
of  the  game. 

puir,  poor. 

pursuivant,  an  attendant  on  a  herald. 

quaigh,  a  wooden  cup,  composed  of 

staves  hooped  together. 
quarry,  game  (hunter's  term), 
quatre-feuille,     quatrefoil     (Gothic 

ornament). 
qtiit,  requite. 

rack,  a  floating  cloud. 

racking,  flying,  like  a  breaking  cloud. 

rade,  rode. 


rais,  the  master  of  a  vessel. 

reads,  counsels. 

reave,  tear  away. 

rebeck,  an  ancient  musical  instru- 
ment, an  early  form  of  the  fiddle. 

rede,  a  story,  counsel,  advice. 

reiver,  a  plunderer,  a  robber. 

reliquaire,  a  repository  for  relics. 

retrograde,  an  astrological  term. 

rie,  a  prince  or  chief;  O  hone  a  rie, 
alas  for  the  chief  1 

rin,  run. 

risp,  creak. 

rive,  tear. 

rochet,  a  bishop's  short  surplice. 

rokelay,  a  short  cloak. 

rood,  a  cross  (as  in  Holy-Rood). 

room,  a  piece  of  land. 

rowan,  the  mountain-ash. 

runnel,  a  small  stream  of  water. 

ruth,  pity,  compassion. 

sack.  Sherry  or  Canary  wine. 

sackless,  innocent. 

sae,  so. 

saga,  a  Scandinavian  epic. 

sained,  blessed. 

sair,  sore,  very. 

sail,  shall. 

saltier,  in  heraldry  an  ordinary  in  the 

form  of  a  St.  Andrew's  cross. 
salvo-shot,  a  salute  of  artillery, 
sark,  a  shirt. 
saye,  say,  assertion. 
scalds,  Scandinavian  minstrels, 
scallop,  a  pilgrim's  cockle-shell  worn 

as  an  emblem, 
scapular,    an  ecclesiastical  scarf  or 

short  cloak, 
scathe,  harm,  injury. 
scaur,  a  cliS,  a  precipitous  bank  of 

earth. 
scaur'd,  scared, 
scrae,  a  bank  of  loose  stones, 
scrogg,  a  stunted  tree,  underwood, 
sea-dog,  a  seal, 
seguidille,  a  Spanish  dance, 
selcouth,  strange,  uncouth, 
selle,  a  saddle. 
seneschal,  the  steward  of  a  castle. 


613 


GLOSSARY 


sewer,  an  ofiBcer  who  serves  up  a  feast. 

shalm,  a  shawm,  a  musical  instru- 
ment, 

sheeling,  a  shepherd's  hut. 

sheen,  bright,  shining. 

shent,  shamed. 

shirra,  a  sheriff. 

shrieve,  shrive,  absolve. 

shroud,  a  garment,  a  plaid. 

sic,  such. 

siller,  silver. 

skirl,  scream,  sound  shrilly. 

sleights,  tricks,  stratagems. 

slogan,  the  war-cry  or  gathering  word 
of  a  Border  clan. 

snood,  a  maiden's  hair-band  or  fillet. 

soland,  solan-goose,  gannet. 

sooth,  true,  truth. 

sped,  despatched,  'done  for.' 

speer,  speir,  ask. 

speerings,  tidings. 

spell,  make  out,  study  out. 

sperthe,  a  battle-axe. 

splent,  a  splinter. 

springlet,  a  small  spring. 

spule,  a  shoulder. 

spurn,  kick. 

stag  of  ten,  one  having  ten  branches 
on  his  antlers. 

stamock,  the  stomach. 

stance,  a  station. 

stane,  stone. 

stark,  stout,  stalwart. 

stern,  a  star. 

sterte,  started. 

stirrup-cup,  a  parting  cup. 

stole,  an  ecclesiastical  scarf  (some- 
times a  robe). 

stoled,  wearing  the  stole. 

store,  stored  up. 

stoun,  stown,  stolen. 

stour,  severe. 

stowre,  battle,  tumult. 

strain,  stock,  race. 

strath,  a  broad  river-valley. 

strathspey,  a  Highland  dance. 

streight,  strait. 

strook,  struck,  stricken. 

stumah,  faithful. 

swith,  haste,  quickly. 


syde,  long. 

syne,  since;  lang  syne,  long  ago. 

tabard,  a  herald's  coat. 

tait,  a  tuft. 

targe,  a  shield. 

tarn,  a  mountain  lake. 

tartan,  the  full  Highland  dress,  made 

of  the  chequered  stuff  so  termed, 
tett,  a  plait  or  plaited  knot. 
throstle,  a  thrush. 
tide,  time. 
tine,  lose ;  tint,  lost. 
tire,  a  head-dress. 
toom,  empty, 
tottered,  tattered,  ragged. 
toun,  a  town, 
train,  allure,  entice. 
trental,  a  service  of  thirty  masses  for 

a  deceased  person. 
tressure,  a  border  (heraldic). 
trews.  Highland  trousers. 
trine,  threefold,  an  astrological  term, 
trow,  believe,  trust. 
trowls,  passes  round. 
truncheon,  a  staff,  the  shaft  of  a  spear, 
twa,  two. 
tyke,  a  dog. 
tyne,  lose. 

uncouth,  strange,  unknown. 
uneath,  not  easily,  with  difficulty, 
imsparred,  unbarred. 
upsees,  a  Bacchanalian  cry  or  inter- 
jection, borrowed  from  the  Dutch. 
urchin,  an  elf. 

vail,  avail. 

vail,  lower,  let  fall. 

vair,  a  kind  of  fur,  probably  of  the 
squirrel. 

vantage-coign,  an  advantageous  po- 
sition. 

vaunt-brace,  or  wam-brace,  armour 
for  the  forearm. 

vaward,  van,  front. 

vilde,  vile. 

wad,  would, 
wan,  won. 


614 


GLOSSARY 


Warden-raid,  a  raid  commanded  by 
a  Border  Warden  in  person. 

ware,  beware  of. 

warlock,  a  wizard. 

warped,  frozen. 

warre,  worse. 

warrison,  a  note  of  assault. 

warstle,  wrestle. 

wassail,  spiced  ale,  a  drinking-bout. 

wauk,  wake. 

waur,  worse. 

weapon-schaw,  a  military  array  of  a 
county,  a  muster. 

weed,  a  garment. 

weird,  fate,  doom. 

whenas,  when. 

whilere,  while-ere,  erewhile,  a  while 
ago. 

whiles,  sometimes. 


whilom,  whilome,  formerly. 
whin,  gorse,  furze. 
whingers,  knives,  poniards, 
whinyard,  a  hunter's  knife. 
wight,  active,  gallant,  war-like, 
wildering,  bewildering. 
wimple,  a  veil. 
woe-worth,  woe  be  to. 
woned,  dwelt. 

wraith,  an  apparition,  a  spectre, 
wreak,  avenge. 
wud,  would. 
wuddie,  the  gallows. 

yare,  ready, 
yate,  a  gate. 
yaud,  see  far  yaud. 
yerk, jerk. 
yode,  went. 


CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U    .    S    .   A 


THE  BRIDAL  OF 
TRIERMAIN 

MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS 

BY 

SIR  WALTER  SCOTT 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1913 
BY  HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


CONTENTS 

The  Bridal  of  Triermain;  or,  the  Vale  of 
St.  John 

preface  to  the  first  edition 3 

introduction 9 

canto  first i6 

canto  second 34 

CANTO  third 66 

conclusion no 

Miscellaneous  Poems 

the  dying  bard ii5 

the  norman  horse-shoe ii7 

the  maid  of  toro ii9 

the  palmer 121 

the  maid  of  neidpath 1 23 

wandering  willie i25 

health  to  lord  melville 1 28 

hunting  song i32 

song:  *o  say  not,  my  love' 134 

the  resolve i35 

epitaph  designed  for  a  monument  in  lich- 
field cathedral,  at  the  burial-place  of 
the  family  of  miss  seward 138 

V 


CONTENTS 

PROLOGUE    TO    MISS    BAILLIE'S    PLAY    OF    'THE 

FAMILY   legend' 139 

THE  POACHER 141 

THE    BOLD    dragoon;    OR,    THE    PLAIN    OF    BA- 

DAJOS         148 

ON  THE  MASSACRE   OF   GLENCOE 151 

SONG   FOR  THE  ANNIVERSARY   MEETING   OF  THE 

PITT  CLUB   OF   SCOTLAND 1 54 

LINES  ADDRESSED  TO  RANALD  MACDONALD,  ESQ., 

OF   STAFFA 156 

PHAROS   LOQUITUR 157 

LETTER  IN  VERSE  ON  THE  VOYAGE  WITH  THE 
COMMISSIONERS  OF  NORTHERN  LIGHTS  TO 
HIS    GRACE    THE    DUKE    OF    BUCCLEUCH       .      .    158 

POSTSCRIPTUM 162 

SONGS   AND   VERSES   FROM  WAVERLEY 

I.    'and   DID   YE    NOT   HEAR   OF   A    MIRTH 

befell' 165 

II.    'late,    when    the    autumn    EVENING 
fell' 166 

ni.  'the  knight's  to  the  mountain'    .  i68 

IV.    'it  's     UP     GLENBARCHAN'S      BRAES     I 

gaed' 169 

V.  'hie  away,  hie  away' 169 

VI.  ST.  swithin's  chair 170 

VII.  'young  men  will  love  thee  more 

FAIR  and   more   fast' 1 72 

vi 


CONTENTS 

vm.  FLORA  mac-ivor's  song 173 

DC.   TO  AN   OAK   TREE I76 

X.    'we    are    BOUND    TO    DRIVE    THE    BUL- 
LOCKS'          178 

XI.    'but  follow,   FOLLOW   ME'       .      .      .      .  178 

FOR  a'   that  an'   a'   that 179 

FAREWELL  TO  MACKENZIE,  HIGH  CHIEF  OF  KIN- 
TAIL 181 

IMITATION   OF   THE   PRECEDING   SONG    ,      .      .      .  183 
WAR-SONG    OF    LACHLAN,    HIGH   CHIEF   OF    MAC- 
LEAN      185 

SAINT  CLOUD 187 

THE   DANCE   OF   DEATH 189 

ROMANCE   OF   DUNOIS I96 

THE   TROUBADOUR I98 

*IT    CHANCED    THAT    CUPID    ON    A    SEASON'  .      .  200 
SONG  ON  THE  LIFTING  OF  THE  BANNER  OF  THE 
HOUSE  OF  BUCCLEUCH  AT  A  GREAT  FOOT-BALL 

MATCH   ON   CARTER   HAUGH 20I 

SONGS   FROM   GUY   MANNERING 

I.    'canny  MOMENT,   LUCKY  FIT*.      .      .      .  203 

II.    'twist  ye,   TWINE   YE!   EVEN   SO'       .      .  204 

in.  'wasted,  weary,  wherefore  stay'  .  205 

IV.  'dark  shall  be  light' 206 

lullaby  of  an  infant  chief 207 

the  return  to  ulster 208 

jock  of  hazeldean 210 

vii 


CONTENTS 

pibroch  of  donald  dhu 212 

nora's  vow 215 

macgregor's  gathering 217 

verses  sung  at  the  dinner  given  to  the 
grand-duke  nicholas  of  russia  and  his 

suite,  i9th  december,  1816 219 

verses  from  the  antiquary 

I.    'he    came,   but  valour   so   HAD   FIRED 

HIS   eye' 221 

II.  'why  sit'st  thou   by    that    ruined 

hall' 221 

III.  EPITAPH 222 

IV.  'the  herring  loves  THE  MERRY  MOON- 
LIGHT'         223 

VERSES  FROM   OLD   MORTALITY 

I.    'and      what      THOUGH      WINTER      WILL 

PINCH   severe'  .........    226 

n.   VERSES   FOUND,    WITH  A   LOCK   OF  HAIR, 

IN  bothwell's  pocket-book  ....  226 

III.    epitaph   on   BALFOUR   OF   BURLEY     .      .228 

THE   search  after  HAPPINESS 229 

lines   written   for   MISS    SMITH 245 

MR.   KEMBLE's   farewell  ADDRESS    ON   TAKING 

LEAVE  OF  THE  EDINBURGH  STAGE  .  .  .  .247 
THE  SUN  UPON  THE  WEIRDLAW  HILL  .  .  .  .  25O 
SONG     FROM    ROB     ROY,    TO     THE     MEMORY     OF 

EDWARD   THE   BLACK   PRINCE 252 

viii 


CONTENTS 

THE  MONKS   OF   BANGOR's   MARCH 254 

EPILOGUE   TO   'the   APPEAL' 256 

mackrimmon's  lament 258 

DONALD  Cairo's  come  again 260 

MADGE   wildfire's   SONGS 263 

THE   BATTLE   OF   SEMPACH 267 

THE  NOBLE  MORINGER 275 

EPITAPH  ON  MRS.   ERSKINE 289 

SONGS   FROM  THE   BRIDE   OF   LAMMERMOOR 

I.  'look  not  thou  on  beauty's  charm- 
ing'        290 

II.  'the    monk   must   arise    when   the 
matins  ring' 290 

in,  'when   the   last   laird   of   ravens- 
wood  to  ravens  wood  shall  ride  '      .  291 
songs  from  the  legend  of  montrose 

i.  ancient  gaelic  melody 292 

ii.  the  orphan  maid 293 

verses  from  ivanhoe 

I.   THE   crusader's   RETURN 296 

II.   THE   BAREFOOTED   FRIAR 298 

III.  '  NORMAN   SAW   ON   ENGLISH   OAK'       .      .    299 

IV.  WAR-SONG 300 

V.  Rebecca's  hymn 302 

VI.   THE   BLACK   KNIGHT  AND   WAMBA  .      .      .304 
VII.   ANOTHER   CAROL   BY   THE   SAME      .      .      .   305 

VIII.   FUNERAL  HYMN 306 

ix 


CONTENTS 

VERSES   FROM   THE   MONASTERY 

I.  ANSWER   TO    INTRODUCTORY   EPISTLE     .   308 
II.   BORDER   SONG 308 

III.  SONGS  OF  THE  WHITE  LADY  OF  AVENEL  309 

IV.  TO   THE   SUB-PRIOR 31I 

V.  HALBERT's  INCANTATION 313 

VI.  TO   HALBERT 313 

VII.  TO   THE   SAME 318 

Vni.   TO   THE   SAME 322 

IX.   TO   MARY   AVENEL 323 

X.  TO   EDWARD   GLENDINNING       .      .      .      .323 
XI.    THE   WHITE   LADY'S   FAREWELL    .      .      .324 

GOLDTHRED's   SONG   FROM  KENILWORTH    .      .      .326 
VERSES   FROM   THE   PIRATE 

I.    THE   SONG   OF   THE   TEMPEST  .      .      .      .327 

II.  HALCRO'S   SONG 33O 

in.    SONG   OF   HAROLD   HARFAGER        .      .      •   33I 
IV.   SONG  OF  THE  MERMAIDS  AND  MERMEN  333 

V.   NORNA'S   VERSES 335 

VI.  HALCRO   AND   NORNA 338 

VII.  THE   fishermen's   SONG 343 

VIII.  CLEVELAND'S   SONGS 344 

DC.   HALCRO'S   VERSES 345 

X.   NORNA'S   INCANTATIONS 347 

XI.  THE     SAME,     AT    THE     MEETING     WITH 
MINNA 349 

xn.  bryce   snailsfoot's   advertisement  353 

X 


CONTENTS 

'on  ettrick  forest's  mountains  dun'    .    .354 

the  maid  of  isla 356 

farewell  to  the  muse 358 

Nigel's  initiation  at  whitefriars  .    .    .    .360 
'carle,  now  the  king's  come' 363 

THE  BANNATYNE   CLUB 372 

county  guy 375 

epilogue  to  the  drama  founded  on  'saint 

ronan's  well' 376 

epilogue 380 

verses  from  redgauntlet 

I.   A  CATCH   OF  COWLEY's  ALTERED    .      .      .   382 

II.  'as  lords  their  labourers'  hire  delay  '  383 

LINES   ADDRESSED    TO    MONSIEUR    ALEXANDRE, 

THE  CELEBRATED  VENTRILOQUIST     .      .      .      .384 

TO  J.  G.  LOCKEIART,  ESQ.,  ON  THE  COMPOSITION 
OF  MAIDA'S  EPITAPH 385 

SONGS   FROM  THE   BETROTHED 

I.  'soldier,  wake!' 387 

II.  woman's  faith 388 

III.  'l  ASKED   OF  MY  HARP' 389 

IV.  'widowed  wife  and  wedded  maid'     .391 

VERSES   FROM  THE   TALISMAN 

I.   'dark     AHRIMAN,   whom  IRAK   STILL'      .392 
II.    'WTIAT   BRAVE    CHIEF    SHALL   HEAD   THE 

forces' 394 

m.  THE  BLOODY  VEST 395 

xi 


CONTENTS 

verses  from  woodstock 

i.  *by  pathless  march,  by  greenwood 

tree'  .   ' 400 

ii.  glee  for  king  charles 40o 

ni.   *AN  HOUR  WITH   THEE' 402 

IV.  'son  of  a  witch' 403 

LINES  TO  SIR  CUTHBERT  SHARP 404 

verses  from  CHRONICLES  OF  THE  CANONGATE 

I.  OLD  SONG 405 

II.   THE   LAY   OF   POOR   LOUISE 405 

III.  DEATH   CHANT 407 

IV.  SONG   OF   THE   GLEE-MAIDEN      .      .      .      .408 

THE   DEATH   OF  KEELDAR 4 10 

THE   SECRET   TRIBUNAL 414 

THE   FORAY 416 

INSCRIPTION  FOR  THE  MONUMENT  OF  THE  REV. 

GEORGE  SCOTT 418 

SONGS  FROM  THE  DOOM  OF  DEVORGOIL 

I.  'the  SUN  UPON  THE  LAKE'   ....  419 

II.  'we  love  the  SHRILL  TRUMPET'   .   .  42O 

III.  'admire  not  that  I  GAINED  THE  PRIZE'  42 1 

rv.  'when  the  tempest' 421 

v.  bonny  dundee 422 

vi.  '^vhen  friends  are  met* 425 

'hither  we  come' 427 

the  death  of  don  pedro 428 

lines  on  fortune 43° 

xii 


CONTENTS 

Notes 433 

Glossary 445 

Index  of  First  Lines 455 

Index  of  Titles 462 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

OR 

THE  VALE  OF  ST.   JOHN 
A  LOVER'S  TALE 


PREFACE  TO   THE   FIRST   EDITION 

In  the  Edinburgh  Annual  Register  for  the  year  1809,  Three 
Fragments  were  inserted,  written  in  imitation  of  Li\-ing  Poets. 
It  must  have  been  apparent  that  by  these  prolusions  nothing 
burlesque  or  disrespectful  to  the  authors  was  intended,  but  that 
they  were  offered  to  the  public  as  serious,  though  certainly  very 
imperfect,  imitations  of  that  style  of  composition  by  which  each 
of  the  writers  is  supposed  to  be  distinguished.  As  these  exercises 
attracted  a  greater  degree  of  attention  than  the  author  antici- 
pated, he  has  been  induced  to  complete  one  of  them  and  present 
it  as  a  separate  publication. 

It  is  not  in  this  place  that  an  examination  of  the  works  of  the 
master  whom  he  has  here  adopted  as  his  model,  can,  with  pro- 
priety, be  introduced;  since  his  general  acquiescence  in  the 
favourable  suffrage  of  the  public  must  necessarily  be  inferred 
from  the  attempt  he  has  now  made.  He  is  induced,  by  the  na- 
ture of  his  subject,  to  offer  a  few  remarks  on  what  has  been  called 
romantic  poetry;  the  popularity  of  which  has  been  revived  in 
the  present  day,  under  the  auspices,  and  by  the  unparalleled 
success,  of  one  individual. 

The  original  purpose  of  poetry  is  either  religious  or  historical, 
or,  as  must  frequently  happen,  a  mixture  of  both.  To  modern 
readers  the  poems  of  Homer  have  many  of  the  features  of  pure 
romance;  but  in  the  estimation  of  his  contemporaries,  they  prob- 
ably derived  their  chief  value  from  their  supposed  historical  au- 
thenticity. The  same  may  be  generally  said  of  the  poetry  of  all 
early  ages.  The  marvels  and  miracles  which  the  poet  blends 
with  his  song  do  not  exceed  in  number  or  extravagance  the  fig- 
ments of  the  historians  of  the  same  period  of  society ;  and  indeed, 
the  difference  betwixt  poetry  and  prose,  as  the  vehicles  of  his- 
torical truth,  is  always  of  late  introduction.  Poets,  under  various 
denominations  of  Bards,  Scalds,  Chroniclers,  and  so  forth,  are 


PREFACE   TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION 

the  first  historians  of  all  nations.  Their  intention  is  to  relate 
the  events  they  have  witnessed,  or  the  traditions  that  have 
reached  them;  and  they  clothe  the  relation  in  rhyme,  merely  as 
the  means  of  rendering  it  more  solemn  in  the  narrative,  or  more 
easily  committed  to  memory.  But  as  the  poetical  historian  im- 
proves in  the  art  of  conveying  information,  the  authenticity  of 
his  narrative  unavoidably  declines.  He  is  tempted  to  dilate  and 
dwell  upon  the  events  that  are  interesting  to  his  imagination, 
and,  conscious  how  indifferent  his  audience  is  to  the  naked  truth 
of  his  poem,  his  history  gradually  becomes  a  romance. 

It  is  in  this  situation  that  those  epics  are  found,  which  have 
been  generally  regarded  the  standards  of  poetry;  and  it  has 
happened  somewhat  strangely  that  the  moderns  have  pointed 
out  as  the  characteristics  and  peculiar  excellencies  of  narrative 
poetry,  the  very  circumstances  which  the  authors  themselves 
adopted,  only  because  their  art  involved  the  duties  of  the  his- 
torian as  well  as  the  poet.  It  cannot  be  believed,  for  example, 
that  Homer  selected  the  siege  of  Troy  as  the  most  appropriate 
subject  for  poetry;  his  purpose  was  to  write  the  early  history  of 
his  country;  the  event  he  has  chosen,  though  not  very  fruitful 
in  varied  incident,  nor  perfectly  well  adapted  for  poetry,  was 
nevertheless  combined  with  traditionary  and  genealogical  anec- 
dotes extremely  interesting  to  those  who  were  to  listen  to  him; 
and  this  he  has  adorned  by  the  exertions  of  a  genius  which,  if  it 
has  been  equalled,  has  certainly  been  never  surpassed.  It  was 
not  till  comparatively  a  late  period  that  the  general  accuracy  of 
his  narrative,  or  his  purpose  in  composing  it,  was  brought  into 
question.  Ao^ei  Trpwros  [o  'Ava^ayopas^  (/ca^a  cfyrjcn  ^ajSoptvo?  iv 
Tj-avToSaTTTJ  'Icrropttt)  riyr  'Ofxiqpov  TrOLrjcriv  a.Tro^rjva<j9aL  aval  Trepi 
dpcT^s  Kttt  SiKaLoa-vvrjs^  But  whatever  theories  might  be  framed 
by  speculative  men,  his  work  was  of  an  historical,  not  of  an 
allegorical  nature.  'EvauTiXXtro  fiera  tov  McVtcw  koI  ottov 
e/caoTore  atfiLKOLTO,  Travra  to.  cTrt^copta  StepwraTO,  Kai  IcrTopetnv 
iTTVvddviTO'  ctKOS   84  fxiv  r/v  Koi   fxvrifx6(xvva   TravTtov  ypa^ccrpat. 

•  Diogenes  Laertius,  lib.  ii.  Anaxag.  Segm.  ii. 

»  Homeri  Vita,  in  Herod.  Henr.  Sleph.  1570.  P-  356. 


PREFACE   TO   THE   FIRST  EDITION 

Instead  of  recommending  the  choice  of  a  subject  similar  to  that 
of  Homer,  it  was  to  be  expected  that  critics  should  have  ex- 
horted the  poets  of  these  latter  days  to  adopt  or  invent  a  nar- 
rative in  itself  more  susceptible  of  poetical  ornament,  and  to 
avail  themselves  of  that  advantage  in  order  to  compensate,  in 
some  degree,  the  inferiority  of  genius.  The  contrary  course  has 
been  inculcated  by  almost  all  the  writers  upon  the  Epopoeia; 
with  what  success,  the  fate  of  Homer's  numerous  imitators  ma}- 
best  show.  The  ultimum  suppliciiim  of  criticism  was  inflicted 
on  the  author  if  he  did  not  choose  a  subject  which  at  once  de- 
prived him  of  all  claim  to  originality,  and  placed  him,  if  not  in 
actual  contest,  at  least  in  fatal  comparison,  with  those  giants 
in  the  land  whom  it  was  most  his  interest  to  avoid.  The 
celebrated  receipt  for  writing  an  epic  poem,  which  appeared 
in  The  Guardian,^  was  the  first  instance  in  which  common 
sense  was  applied  to  this  department  of  poetry;  and,  indeed,  if 
the  question  be  considered  on  its  own  merits,  we  must  be  sat- 
isfied that  narrative  poetry,  if  strictly  confined  to  the  great 
occurrences  of  history,  would  be  deprived  of  the  individual 
interest  which  it  is  so  well  calculated  to  excite. 

Modern  poets  may  therefore  be  pardoned  in  seeking  simpler 
subjects  of  verse,  more  interesting  in  proportion  to  their  sim- 
plicity. Two  or  three  figures,  well  grouped,  suit  the  artist  better 
than  a  crowd,  for  whatever  purpose  assembled.  For  the  same 
reason,  a  scene  immediately  presented  to  the  imagination,  and 
directly  brought  home  to  the  feelings,  though  involving  the  fate 
of  but  one  or  two  persons,  is  more  favourable  for  poetry  than  the 
political  struggles  and  convulsions  which  influence  the  fate  of 
kingdoms.  The  former  are  within  the  reach  and  comprehension 
of  all,  and,  if  depicted  with  vigour,  seldom  fail  to  fix  attention; 
The  other  if  more  sublime,  are  more  vague  and  distant,  less  capa- 
ble of  being  distinctly  understood,  and  infinitely  less  capable  of 
exciting  those  sentiments  which  it  is  the  very  purpose  of  poetry 
to  inspire.  To  generalize  is  always  to  destroy  effect.  We  would, 
for  example,  be  more  interested  in  the  fate  of  an  individual 
»  The  Guardian,  No,  78.  Pope. 


PREFACE   TO   THE   FIRST   EDITION 

soldier  in  combat,  than  in  the  grand  event  of  a  general  action; 
with  the  happiness  of  two  lovers  raised  from  misery  and  anxiety 
to  peace  and  union,  than  with  the  successful  exertions  of  a  whole 
nation.  From  what  causes  this  may  originate,  is  a  separate  and 
obviously  an  immaterial  consideration.  Before  ascribing  this 
peculiarity  to  causes  decidedly  and  odiously  selfish,  it  is  proper  to 
recollect  that  while  men  see  only  a  limited  space,  and  while  their 
affections  and  conduct  are  regulated,  not  by  aspiring  to  an  uni- 
versal good,  but  by  exerting  their  power  of  making  themselves 
and  others  happy  within  the  limited  scale  allotted  to  each 
individual,  so  long  will  individual  history  and  individual  virtue 
be  the  readier  and  more  accessible  road  to  general  interest  and 
attention;  and,  perhaps,  we  may  add,  that  it  is  the  more  useful, 
as  well  as  the  more  accessible,  inasmuch  as  it  affords  an  exam- 
ple capable  of  being  easily  imitated. 

According  to  the  author's  idea  of  Romantic  Poetry,  as  dis- 
tinguished from  Epic,  the  former  comprehends  a  fictitious  nar- 
rative, framed  and  combined  at  the  pleasure  of  the  writer; 
beginning  and  ending  as  he  may  judge  best ;  which  neither  exacts 
nor  refuses  the  use  of  supernatural  machinery;  which  is  free  from 
the  technical  rules  of  the  Epee;  and  is  subject  only  to  those  which 
good  sense,  good  taste,  and  good  morals  apply  to  every  species  of 
poetry  without  exception.  The  date  may  be  in  a  remote  age,  or 
in  the  present;  the  story  may  detail  the  adventures  of  a  prince 
or  of  a  peasant.  In  a  word,  the  author  is  absolute  master  of  his 
country  and  its  inhabitants,  and  everything  is  permitted  to  him, 
excepting  to  be  heavy  or  prosaic,  for  which,  free  and  unembar- 
rassed as  he  is,  he  has  no  manner  of  apology.  Those,  it  is  prob- 
able, will  be  found  the  peculiarities  of  this  species  of  composi- 
tion ;  and  before  joining  the  outcry  against  the  vitiated  taste  that 
fosters  and  encourages  it,  the  justice  and  grounds  of  it  ought  to 
be  made  perfectly  apparent.  If  the  want  of  sieges  and  battles 
and  great  military  evolutions,  in  our  poetry,  is  complained  of, 
let  us  reflect  that  the  campaigns  and  heroes  of  our  days  are 
perpetuated  in  a  record  that  neither  requires  nor  admits  of  the 
aid  of  fiction;  and  if  the  complaint  refers  to  the  inferiority  of  our 


PREFACE    TO   THE    FIRST   EDITION 

bards,  let  us  pay  a  just  tribute  to  their  modesty,  limiting  them, 
as  it  does,  to  subjects  which,  however  indifferently  treated,  have 
still  the  interest  and  charm  of  novelty,  and  which  thus  prevents 
them  from  adding  insipidity  to  their  other  more  insuperable 
defects. 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

OR 

THE  VALE  OF  SAINT  JOHN 

A  LOVER'S  TALE 

INTRODUCTION 

I 

Come,  Lucy!  while  't  is  morning  hour 

The  woodland  brook  we  needs  must  pass; 
So  ere  the  sun  assume  his  power 
We  shelter  in  our  poplar  bower, 
Where  dew  lies  long  upon  the  flower. 

Though  vanished  from  the  velvet  grass. 
Curbing  the  stream,  this  stony  ridge 
May  serve  us  for  a  sylvan  bridge; 

For  here  compelled  to  disunite, 

Round  petty  isles  the  runnels  glide, 
And  chafing  off  their  puny  spite. 
The  shallow  murmurers  waste  their  might, 

Yielding  to  footstep  free  and  light 
A  dry-shod  pass  from  side  to  side. 
9 


THE   BRIDAL  OF   TRIERMAIN 

II 

Nay,  why  this  hesitating  pause? 
And,  Lucy,  as  thy  step  withdraws. 
Why  sidelong  eye  the  streamlet's  brim? 

Titania's  foot  without  a  slip, 
Like  thine,  though  timid,  light,  and  slim, 

From  stone  to  stone  might  safely  trip, 

Nor  risk  the  glow-worm  clasp  to  dip 
That  binds  her  slipper's  silken  rim. 
Or  trust  thy  lover's  strength ;  nor  fear 

That  this  same  stalwart  arm  of  mine. 
Which  could  yon  oak's  prone  trunk  uprear. 
Shall  shrink  beneath  the  burden  dear 

Of  form  so  slender,  light,  and  fine.  — 
So  —  now,  the  danger  dared  at  last. 
Look  back  and  smile  at  perils  past! 

Ill 

And  now  we  reach  the  favourite  glade, 

Paled  in  by  copsewood,  clifif,  and  stone, 
Where  never  harsher  sounds  invade 

To  break  affection's  whispering  tone 
Than  the  deep  breeze  that  waves  the  shade, 

Than  the  small  brooklet's  feeble  moan. 
Come !  rest  thee  on  thy  wonted  seat ; 

Mossed  is  the  stone,  the  turf  is  green, 

lO 


THE   BRIDAL  OF   TRIERMAIN 

A  place  where  lovers  best  may  meet 

Who  would  not  that  their  love  be  seen. 
The  boughs  that  dim  the  summer  sky 
Shall  hide  us  from  each  lurking  spy 

That  fain  would  spread  the  invidious  tale, 
How  Lucy  of  the  lofty  eye, 
Noble  in  birth,  in  fortunes  high, 
She  for  whom  lords  and  barons  sigh. 
Meets  her  poor  Arthur  in  the  dale. 

IV 

How  deep  that  blush!  —  how  deep  that  sigh! 

And  why  does  Lucy  shun  mine  eye? 

Is  it  because  that  crimson  draws 

Its  colour  from  some  secret  cause, 

Some  hidden  movement  of  the  breast, 

She  would  not  that  her  Arthur  guessed? 

O,  quicker  far  is  lovers'  ken 

Than  the  dull  glance  of  common  men. 

And  by  strange  sympathy  can  spell 

The  thoughts  the  loved  one  will  not  tell! 

And  mine  in  Lucy's  blush  saw  met 

The  hue  of  pleasure  and  regret; 

Pride  mingled  in  the  sigh  her  voice. 

And  shared  with  Love  the  crimson  glow. 

Well  pleased  that  thou  art  Arthur's  choice. 
Yet  shamed  thine  own  is  placed  so  low: 
II 


THE   BRIDAL   OF   TRIERMAIN 

Thou  turn'st  thy  self-confessing  cheek, 
As  if  to  meet  the  breezes  cooUng ; 

Then,  Lucy,  hear  thy  tutor  speak, 

For  Love,  too,  has  his  hours  of  schooling. 

V 

Too  oft  my  anxious  eye  has  spied 
That  secret  grief  thou  fain  wouldst  hide, 
The  passing  pang  of  humbled  pride ; 
Too  oft  when  through  the  splendid  hall, 

The  loadstar  of  each  heart  and  eye, 
My  fair  one  leads  the  glittering  ball. 
Will  her  stolen  glance  on  Arthur  fall 

With  such  a  blush  and  such  a  sigh ! 
Thou  wouldst  not  yield  for  wealth  or  rank 

The  heart  thy  worth  and  beauty  won, 
Nor  leave  me  on  this  mossy  bank 

To  meet  a  rival  on  a  throne: 
Why  then  should  vain  repinings  rise, 
That  to  thy  lover  fate  denies 
A  nobler  name,  a  wide  domain, 
A  baron's  birth,  a  menial  train, 
Since  Heaven  assigned  him  for  his  part 
A  lyre,  a  falchion,  and  a  heart? 


12 


THE   BRIDAL   OF   TRIERMAIN 

VI 

My  sword  —  its  master  must  be  dumb; 

But  when  a  soldier  names  my  name, 
Approach,  my  Lucy!  fearless  come, 

Nor  dread  to  hear  of  Arthur's  shame. 
My  heart  —  mid  all  yon  courtly  crew 

Of  lordly  rank  and  lofty  line, 
Is  there  to  love  and  honour  true. 

That  boasts  a  pulse  so  warm  as  mine? 
They  praised  thy  diamonds'  lustre  rare  — 

Matched  with  thine  eyes,  I  thought  it  faded; 
They  praised  the  pearls  that  bound  thy  hair — 

I  only  saw  the  locks  they  braided ; 
They  talked  of  wealthy  dower  and  land, 

And  titles  of  high  birth  the  token  — 
I  thought  of  Lucy's  heart  and  hand, 

Nor  knew  the  sense  of  what  was  spoken. 
And  yet,  if  ranked  in  Fortune's  roll, 

I  might  have  learned  their  choice  unwise 
Who  rate  the  dower  above  the  soul 

And  Lucy's  diamonds  o'er  her  eyes. 

VII 

My  lyre  —  it  is  an  idle  toy 

That  borrows  accents  not  its  own, 
Like  warbler  of  Colombian  sky 
13 


THE  BRIDAL   OF   TRIERMAIN 

That  sings  but  in  a  mimic  tone.^ 
Ne'er  did  it  sound  o'er  sainted  well, 
Nor  boasts  it  aught  of  Border  spell ; 
Its  strings  no  feudal  slogan  pour, 
Its  heroes  draw  no  broad  claymore; 
No  shouting  clans  applauses  raise 
Because  it  sung  their  fathers'  praise; 
On  Scottish  moor,  or  English  down, 
It  ne'er  was  graced  with  fair  renown; 
Nor  won  —  best  meed  to  minstrel  true  — 
One  favouring  smile  from  fair  Buccleuch! 
By  one  poor  streamlet  sounds  its  tone, 
And  heard  by  one  dear  maid  alone. 

VIII 

But,  if  thou  bid'st,  these  tones  shall  tell 

Of  errant  knight,  and  damoselle; 

Of  the  dread  knot  a  wizard  tied 

In  punishment  of  maiden's  pride, 

In  notes  of  marvel  and  of  fear 

That  best  may  charm  romantic  ear. 

For  Lucy  loves  —  like  Collins, ^  Ill-starred  name! 
Whose  lay's  requital  was  that  tardy  Fame, 
Who  bound  no  laurel  round  his  living  head, 
Should  hang  it  o'er  his  monument  when  dead,  — 

>  The  mockingbird.  '  See  Note  i. 

14 


THE   BRIDAL   OF   TRIERMAIN 

For  Lucy  loves  to  tread  enchanted  strand, 
And  thread  like  him  the  maze  of  Fairyland; 
Of  golden  battlements  to  view  the  gleam, 
And  slumber  soft  by  some  Elysian  stream; 
Such  lays  she  loves  —  and,  such  my  Lucy's  choice, 
What  other  song  can  claim  her  Poet's  voice? 


CANTO   FIRST 

I 

Where  is  the  maiden  of  mortal  strain 

That  may  match  with  the  Baron  of  Triermain?  * 

She  must  be  lovely  and  constant  and  kind, 

Holy  and  pure  and  humble  of  mind, 

Blithe  of  cheer  and  gentle  of  mood. 

Courteous  and  generous  and  noble  of  blood  — 

Lovely  as  the  sun's  first  ray 

When  it  breaks  the  clouds  of  an  April  day; 

Constant  and  true  as  the  widowed  dove, 

Kind  as  a  minstrel  that  sings  of  love ; 

Pure  as  the  fountain  in  rocky  cave 

Where  never  sunbeam  kissed  the  wave; 

Humble  as  maiden  that  loves  in  vain, 

Holy  as  hermit's  vesper  strain; 

Gentle  as  breeze  that  but  whispers  and  dies. 

Yet  blithe  as  the  light  leaves  that  dance  in  its  sighs; 

Courteous  as  monarch  the  morn  he  is  crowned. 

Generous  as  spring-dews  that  bless  the  glad  ground; 

Noble  her  blood  as  the  currents  that  met 

In  the  veins  of  the  noblest  Plantagenet  — 

Such  must  her  form  be,  her  mood,  and  her  strain, 

That  shall  match  with  Sir  Roland  of  Triermain. 

*  See  Note  2. 
16 


iii 


THE   BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

II 

Sir  Roland  de  Vaux  he  hath  laid  him  to  sleep, 
His  blood  it  was  fevered,  his  breathing  was  deep. 
He  had  been  pricking  against  the  Scot, 
The  foray  was  long  and  the  skirmish  hot; 
His  dinted  helm  and  his  buckler's  plight 
Bore  token  of  a  stubborn  fight. 

All  in  the  castle  must  hold  them  still, 
Harpers  must  lull  him  to  his  rest 
With  the  slow  soft  tunes  he  loves  the  best 
Till  sleep  sink  down  upon  his  breast, 

Like  the  dew  on  a  summer  hill. 

Ill 

It  was  the  dawn  of  an  autumn  day; 
The  sun  was  struggling  with  frost-fog  grey 
That  like  a  silvery  crape  was  spread 
Round  Skiddaw's  dim  and  distant  head, 
And  faintly  gleamed  each  painted  pane 
Of  the  lordly  halls  of  Triermain, 

When  that  baron  bold  awoke. 
Starting  he  woke  and  loudly  did  call, 
Rousing  his  menials  in  bower  and  hall 

While  hastily  he  spoke. 


50  17 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

IV 

'Hearken,  my  minstrels!  Which  of  ye  all 
Touched  his  harp  with  that  dying  fall, 

So  sweet,  so  soft,  so  faint. 
It  seemed  an  angel's  whispered  call 

To  an  expiring  saint? 
And  hearken,  my  merry-men!  What  time  or  where 

Did  she  pass,  that  maid  with  her  heavenly  brow, 
With  her  look  so  sweet  and  her  eyes  so  fair. 
And  her  graceful  step  and  her  angel  air, 
And  the  eagle  plume  in  her  dark-brown  hair, 

That  passed  from  my  bower  e'en  now!' 

V 

Answered  him  Richard  de  Bretville;  he 
Was  chief  of  the  baron's  minstrelsy,  — 
'Silent,  noble  chieftain,  we 

Have  sat  since  midnight  close. 
When  such  lulling  sounds  as  the  brooklet  sings 
Murmured  from  our  melting  strings, 
And  hushed  you  to  repose. 
Had  a  harp-note  sounded  here, 
It  had  caught  my  watchful  ear, 
Although  it  fell  as  faint  and  shy 
As  bashful  maiden's  half-formed  sigh 
When  she  thinks  her  lover  near.' 
i8 


THE   BRIDAL   OF   TRIERMAIN 

Answered  Philip  of  Fasthwaite  tall; 
He  kept  guard  in  the  outer-hall,  — 
'Since  at  eve  our  watch  took  post, 
Not  a  foot  has  thy  portal  crossed ; 

Else  had  I  heard  the  steps,  though  low 
And  light  they  fell  as  when  earth  receives 
In  morn  of  frost  the  withered  leaves 

That  drop  when  no  winds  blow.' 


VI 

'Then  come  thou  hither,  Henry,  my  page, 
Whom  I  saved  from  the  sack  of  Hermitage, 
When  that  dark  castle,  tower,  and  spire. 
Rose  to  the  skies  a  pile  of  fire. 

And  reddened  all  the  Nine-stane  Hill, 
And  the  shrieks  of  death,  that  wildly  broke 
Through  devouring  flame  and  smothering  smoke, 

Made  the  warrior's  heart-blood  chill. 
The  trustiest  thou  of  all  my  train. 
My  fleetest  courser  thou  must  rein, 

And  ride  to  Lyulph's  tower. 
And  from  the  Baron  of  Triermain 

Greet  well  that  sage  of  power. 
He  is  sprung  from  Druid  sires 
And  British  bards  that  tuned  their  lyres 
To  Arthur's  and  Pendragon's  praise, 

19 


THE   BRIDAL    OF   TRIERMAIN 

And  his  who  sleeps  at  Dunmailraise.* 

Gifted  like  his  gifted  race, 

He  the  characters  can  trace 

Graven  deep  in  elder  time 

Upon  Hellvellyn's  cliffs  sublime ; 

Sign  and  sigil  well  doth  he  know, 

And  can  bode  of  weal  and  woe, 

Of  kingdoms'  fall  and  fate  of  wars. 

From  mystic  dreams  and  course  of  stars. 

He  shall  tell  if  middle  earth 

To  that  enchanting  shape  gave  birth, 

Or  if  't  was  but  an  airy  thing 

Such  as  fantastic  slumbers  bring, 

Framed  from  the  rainbow's  varying  dyes 

Or  fading  tints  of  western  skies. 

For,  by  the  blessed  rood  I  swear, 

If  that  fair  form  breathe  vital  air, 

No  other  maiden  by  my  side 

Shall  ever  rest  De  Vaux's  bride!' 

VII 

The  faithful  page  he  mounts  his  steed. 
And  soon  he  crossed  green  Irthing's  mead, 
Dashed  o'er  Kirkoswald's  verdant  plain, 
And  Eden  barred  his  course  in  vain. 
He  passed  red  Penrith's  Table  Round, ^ 

*  See  Note  3.  «  See  Note  4. 

20 


THE   BRIDAL   OF   TRIERMAIN 

For  feats  of  chivalry  renowned, 

Left  Mayburgh's  mound  ^  and  stones  of  power, 

By  Druids  raised  in  magic  hour, 

And  traced  the  Eamont's  winding  way 

Till  Ulfo's  lake  beneath  him  lay. 

VIII 

Onward  he  rode,  the  pathway  still 
Winding  betwixt  the  lake  and  hill ; 
Till,  on  the  fragment  of  a  rock 
Struck  from  its  base  by  lightning  shock, 

He  saw  the  hoary  sage: 
The  silver  moss  and  lichen  twined, 
With  fern  and  deer-hair  checked  and  lined, 

A  cushion  fit  for  age; 
And  o'er  him  shook  the  aspen-tree, 
A  restless  rustling  canopy. 
Then  sprung  young  Henry  from  his  selle 

And  greeted  Lyulph  grave. 
And  then  his  master's  tale  did  tell. 

And  then  for  counsel  crave. 
The  man  of  years  mused  long  and  deep, 
Of  time's  lost  treasures  taking  keep, 
And  then,  as  rousing  from  a  sleep, 

His  solemn  answer  gave. 

»  See  Note  S- 


21 


1 


THE  BRIDAL   OF  TRIERMAIN 

IX 

'That  maid  is  born  of  middle  earth 

And  may  of  man  be  won, 
Though  there  have  glided  since  her  birth 

Five  hundred  years  and  one. 
But  where 's  the  knight  in  all  the  north 
That  dare  the  adventure  follow  forth, 
So  perilous  to  knightly  worth, 

In  the  valley  of  Saint  John? 
Listen,  youth,  to  what  I  tell. 
And  bind  it  on  thy  memory  well; 
Nor  muse  that  I  commence  the  rhyme 
Far  distant  mid  the  wrecks  of  time. 
The  mystic  tale  by  bard  and  sage 
Is  handed  down  from  Merlin's  age.* 

X 

lyulph's  tale 

*  King  Arthur  has  ridden  from  merry  Carlisle 
When  Pentecost  was  o'er: 
He  journeyed  like  errant-knight  the  while 
And  sweetly  the  summer  sun  did  smile 

On  mountain,  moss,  and  moor. 
Above  his  solitary  track 
Rose  Glaramara's  ridgy  back, 
Amid  whose  yawning  gulfs  the  sun 
Cast  umbered  radiance  red  and  dun, 

22 


THE   BRIDAL   OF   TRIERMAIN 

Though  never  sunbeam  could  discern 
The  surface  of  that  sable  tarn,^ 
In  whose  black  mirror  you  may  spy 
The  stars  while  noontide  lights  the  sky. 
The  gallant  king  he  skirted  still 
The  margin  of  that  mighty  hill; 
Rock  upon  rocks  incumbent  hung, 
And  torrents,  down  the  gullies  flung, 
Joined  the  rude  river  that  brawled  on, 
R.ecoiling  now  from  crag  and  stone, 
Now  diving  deep  from  human  ken. 
And  raving  down  its  darksome  glen. 
The  monarch  judged  this  desert  wild, 
With  such  romantic  ruin  piled, 
Was  theatre  by  Nature's  hand 
For  feat  of  high  achievement  planned. 

XI 

*0,  rather  he  chose,  that  monarch  bold, 

On  venturous  quest  to  ride 
In  plate  and  mail  by  wood  and  wold 
Than,  with  ermine  trapped  and  cloth  of  gold. 

In  princely  bower  to  bide; 
The  bursting  crash  of  a  foeman's  spear. 

As  it  shivered  against  his  mail. 
Was  merrier  music  to  his  ear 

•  See  Note  6. 
23 


THE    BRIDAL   OF   TRIERMAIN 

Than  courtier's  whispered  tale: 
And  the  clash  of  Caliburn  more  dear, 

When  on  the  hostile  casque  it  rung, 
Than  all  the  lays 
To  the  monarch's  praise 

That  the  harpers  of  Reged  sung. 
He  loved  better  to  rest  by  wood  or  river 
Than  in  bower  of  his  bride,  Dame  Guenever, 
For  he  left  that  lady  so  lovely  of  cheer 
To  follow  adventures  of  danger  and  fear; 
And  the  frank-hearted  monarch  full  little  did  wot 
That  she  smiled  in  his  absence  on  brave  Lancelot. 

XII 

*  He  rode  till  over  down  and  dell 
The  shade  more  broad  and  deeper  fell ; 
And  though  around  the  mountain's  head 
Flowed  streams  of  purple  and  gold  and  red, 
Dark  at  the  base,  unblest  by  beam. 
Frowned  the  black  rocks  and  roared  the  stream. 
With  toil  the  king  his  way  pursued 
By  lonely  Threlkeld's  waste  and  wood, 
Till  on  his  course  obliquely  shone 
The  narrow  valley  of  Saint  John, 
Down  sloping  to  the  western  sky 
Where  lingering  sunbeams  love  to  lie. 
Right  glad  to  feel  those  beams  again, 
24 


THE   BRIDAL   OF   TRIERMAIN 

The  king  drew  up  his  charger's  rein ; 
With  gauntlet  raised  he  screened  his  sight, 
As  dazzled  with  the  level  light, 
And  from  beneath  his  glove  of  mail 
Scanned  at  his  ease  the  lovely  vale, 
While  'gainst  the  sun  his  armour  bright 
Gleamed  ruddy  like  the  beacon's  light. 

XIII 

'Paled  in  by  many  a  lofty  hill. 
The  narrow  dale  lay  smooth  and  still, 
And,  down  its  verdant  bosom  led, 
A  winding  brooklet  found  its  bed. 
But  midmost  of  the  vale  a  mound 
Arose  with  airy  turrets  crowned, 
Buttress,  and  rampire's  circling  bound, 

And  mighty  keep  and  tower; 
Seemed  some  primeval  giant's  hand 
The  castle's  massive  walls  had  planned, 
A  ponderous  bulwark  to  withstand 

Ambitious  NImrod's  power. 
Above  the  moated  entrance  slung, 
The  balanced  drawbridge  trembling  hung. 

As  jealous  of  a  foe; 
Wicket  of  oak,  as  iron  hard. 
With  iron  studded,  clenched,  and  barred, 
And  pronged  portcullis,  joined  to  guard 
25 


THE   BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

The  gloomy  pass  below. 
But  the  grey  walls  no  banners  crowned, 
Upon  the  watchtower's  airy  round 
No  warder  stood  his  horn  to  sound, 
No  guard  beside  the  bridge  was  found, 
And  where  the  Gothic  gateway  frowned 

Glanced  neither  bill  nor  bow. 

XIV 

*  Beneath  the  castle's  gloomy  pride, 
In  ample  round  did  Arthur  ride 
Three  times;  nor  living  thing  he  spied, 

Nor  heard  a  living  sound, 
Save  that,  awakening  from  her  dream. 
The  owlet  now  began  to  scream 
In  concert  with  the  rushing  stream 

That  washed  the  battled  mound. 
He  lighted  from  his  goodly  steed, 
And  he  left  him  to  graze  on  bank  and  mead; 
And  slowly  he  climbed  the  narrow  way 
That  reached  the  entrance  grim  and  grey, 
And  he  stood  the  outward  arch  below, 
And  his  bugle-horn  prepared  to  blow 

In  summons  blithe  and  bold. 
Deeming  to  rouse  from  iron  sleep 
The  guardian  of  this  dismal  keep, 

Which  well  he  guessed  the  hold 
26 


THE   BRIDAL   OF   TRIERMAIN 

Of  wizard  stern,  or  goblin  grim, 
Or  pagan  of  gigantic  limb, 
The  tyrant  of  the  wold. 

XV 

'The  ivory  bugle's  golden  tip 
Twice  touched  the  monarch's  manly  lip, 

And  twice  his  hand  withdrew.  — 
Think  not  but  Arthur's  heart  was  good ! 
His  shield  was  crossed  by  the  blessed  rood : 
Had  a  pagan  host  before  him  stood, 

He  had  charged  them  through  and  through; 
Yet  the  silence  of  that  ancient  place 
Sunk  on  his  heart,  and  he  paused  a  space 

Ere  yet  his  horn  he  blew. 
But,  instant  as  its  larum  rung, 
The  castle  gate  was  open  flung, 
Portcullis  rose  with  crashing  groan 
Full  harshly  up  its  groove  of  stone; 
The  balance-beams  obeyed  the  blast, 
And  down  the  trembling  drawbridge  cast; 
The  vaulted  arch  before  him  lay 
With  nought  to  bar  the  gloomy  way. 
And  onward  Arthur  paced  with  hand 
On  Caliburn's  ^  resistless  brand. 

>  See  Note  7. 


27 


THE  BRIDAL   OF   TRIERMAIN 

XVI 

'A  hundred  torches  flashing  bright 
Dispelled  at  once  the  gloomy  night 

That  loured  along  the  walls, 
And  showed  the  king's  astonished  sight 

The  inmates  of  the  halls. 
Nor  wizard  stern,  nor  goblin  grim, 
Nor  giant  huge  of  form  and  limb, 

Nor  heathen  knight,  was  there; 
But  the  cressets  which  odours  flung  aloft 
Showed  by  their  yellow  light  and  soft 

A  band  of  damsels  fair. 
Onward  they  came,  like  summer  wave 

That  dances  to  the  shore; 
An  hundred  voices  welcome  gave, 

And  welcome  o'er  and  o'er! 
An  hundred  lovely  hands  assail 
The  bucklers  of  the  monarch's  mail, 
And  busy  laboured  to  unhasp 
Rivet  of  steel  and  iron  clasp. 
One  wrapped  him  in  a  mantle  fair. 
And  one  flung  odours  on  his  hair; 
His  short  curled  ringlets  one  smoothed  down, 
One  wreathed  them  with  a  myrtle  crown. 
A  bride  upon  her  wedding-day 
Was  tended  ne'er  by  troop  so  gay. 
28 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

XVII 

'Loud  laughed  they  all,  —  the  king  in  vain 
With  questions  tasked  the  giddy  train; 
Let  him  entreat  or  crave  or  call, 
'T  was  one  reply  —  loud  laughed  they  all. 
Then  o'er  him  mimic  chains  they  fling 
Framed  of  the  fairest  flowers  of  spring; 
While  some  their  gentle  force  unite 
Onward  to  drag  the  wondering  knight, 
Some  bolder  urge  his  pace  with  blows, 
Dealt  with  the  lily  or  the  rose. 
Behind  him  were  in  triumph  borne 
The  warlike  arms  he  late  had  worn. 
Four  of  the  train  combined  to  rear 
The  terrors  of  Tintagel's  spear;  ^ 
Two,  laughing  at  their  lack  of  strength, 
Dragged  Caliburn  in  cumbrous  length; 
One,  while  she  aped  a  martial  stride. 
Placed  on  her  brows  the  helmet's  pride; 
Then  screamed  'twixt  laughter  and  surprise 
To  feel  its  depth  o'erwhelm  her  eyes. 
With  revel-shout  and  triumph-song 
Thus  gayly  marched  the  giddy  throng. 

»  See  Note  8. 


29 


THE  BRIDAL  OF   TRIERMAm 

XVIII 

'Through  many  a  gallery  and  hall 
They  led,  I  ween,  their  royal  thrall; 
At  length,  beneath  a  fair  arcade 
Their  march  and  song  at  once  they  staid. 
The  eldest  maiden  of  the  band  — 

The  lovely  maid  was  scarce  eighteen  — 
Raised  with  imposing  air  her  hand, 
And  reverent  silence  did  command 

On  entrance  of  their  Queen, 
And  they  were  mute.  —  But  as  a  glance 
They  steal  on  Arthur's  countenance 

Bewildered  with  surprise, 
Their  smothered  mirth  again  'gan  speak 
In  archly  dimpled  chin  and  cheek 

And  laughter-lighted  eyes. 

XIX 

'The  attributes  of  those  high  days 
Now  only  live  in  minstrel-lays; 
For  Nature,  now  exhausted,  still 
Was  then  profuse  of  good  and  ill.  • 
Strength  was  gigantic,  valour  high. 
And  wisdom  soared  beyond  the  sky, 
And  beauty  had  such  matchless  beam 
As  lights  not  now  a  lover's  dream. 
30 


THE  BRIDAL   OF  TRIERMAIN 

Yet  e'en  in  that  romantic  age 

Ne'er  were  such  charms  by  mortal  seen 
As  Arthur's  dazzled  eyes  engage, 
When  forth  on  that  enchanted  stage 
With  glittering  train  of  maid  and  page 

Advanced  the  castle's  queen! 
While  up  the  hall  she  slowly  passed, 
Her  dark  eye  on  the  king  she  cast 

That  flashed  expression  strong; 
The  longer  dwelt  that  lingering  look. 
Her  cheek  the  livelier  colour  took. 
And  scarce  the  shame-faced  king  could  brook 

The  gaze  that  lasted  long. 
A  sage  who  had  that  look  espied. 
Where  kindling  passion  strove  with  pride, 

Had  whispered,  "Prince,  beware! 
From  the  chafed  tiger  rend  the  prey, 
Rush  on  the  lion  when  at  bay. 
Bar  the  fell  dragon's  blighted  way, 

But  shun  that  lovely  snare!" 

XX 

'At  once,  that  inward  strife  suppressed. 
The  dame  approached  her  warlike  guest, 
With  greeting  in  that  fair  degree 
Where  female  pride  and  courtesy 
Are  blended  with  such  passing  art 
31 


THE  BRIDAL   OF   TRIERMAIN 

As  awes  at  once  and  charms  the  heart. 
A  courtly  welcome  first  she  gave, 
Then  to  his  goodness  'gan  to  crave 

Construction  fair  and  true 
Of  her  light  maidens'  idle  mirth, 
Who  drew  from  lonely  glens  their  birth 
Nor  knew  to  pay  to  stranger  worth 

And  dignity  their  due; 
And  then  she  prayed  that  he  would  rest 
That  night  her  castle's  honoured  guest. 
The  monarch  meetly  thanks  expressed; 
The  banquet  rose  at  her  behest. 
With  lay  and  tale,  and  laugh  and  jest, 

Apace  the  evening  flew. 

XXI 

'The  lady  sate  the  monarch  by, 
Now  in  her  turn  abashed  and  shy, 
And  with  indifference  seemed  to  hear 
The  toys  he  whispered  in  her  ear. 
Her  bearing  modest  was  and  fair, 
Yet  shadows  of  constraint  were  there 
That  showed  an  over-cautious  care 

Some  inward  thought  to  hide; 
Oft  did  she  pause  in  full  reply, 
And  oft  cast  down  her  large  dark  eye. 
Oft  checked  the  soft  voluptuous  sigh 
32 


THE   BRIDAL  OF   TRIERMAIN 

That  heaved  her  bosom's  pride. 
Slight  symptoms  these,  but  shepherds  know 
How  hot  the  mid-day  sun  shall  glow 

From  the  mist  of  morning  sky; 
And  so  the  wily  monarch  guessed 
That  this  assumed  restraint  expressed 
More  ardent  passions  in  the  breast 

Than  ventured  to  the  eye. 
Closer  he  pressed  while  beakers  rang, 
While  maidens  laughed  and  minstrels  sang. 

Still  closer  to  her  ear  — 
But  why  pursue  the  common  tale? 
Or  wherefore  show  how  knights  prevail 

When  ladies  dare  to  hear? 
Or  wherefore  trace  from  what  slight  cause 
Its  source  one  tyrant  passion  draws, 

Till,  mastering  all  within. 
Where  lives  the  man  that  has  not  tried 
How  mirth  can  into  folly  glide 

And  folly  into  sin!' 

50 


CANTO  SECOND 

lyulph's  tale  continued 

I 

'Another  day,  another  day, 
And  yet  another,  glides  away! 
The  Saxon  stern,  the  pagan  Dane, 
Maraud  on  Britain's  shores  again. 
Arthur,  of  Christendom  the  flower, 
Lies  loitering  in  a  lady's  bower; 
The  horn  that  foemen  wont  to  fear 
Sounds  but  to  wake  the  Cumbrian  deer. 
And  Caliburn,  the  British  pride, 
Hangs  useless  by  a  lover's  side. 

II 

'Another  day,  another  day. 
And  yet  another,  glides  away. 
Heroic  plans  in  pleasure  drowned. 
He  thinks  not  of  the  Table  Round; 
In  lawless  love  dissolved  his  life. 
He  thinks  not  of  his  beauteous  wife: 
Better  he  loves  to  snatch  a  flower 
From  bosom  of  his  paramour 
Than  from  a  Saxon  knight  to  wrest 
34 


THE  BRIDAL   OF   TRIERMAIN 

The  honours  of  his  heathen  crest ; 
Better  to  wreathe  mid  tresses  brown 
The  heron's  plume  her  hawk  struck  down 
Than  o'er  the  altar  give  to  flow 
The  banners  of  a  Paynim  foe. 
Thus  week  by  week  and  day  by  day 
His  life  inglorious  glides  away; 
But  she  that  soothes  his  dream  with  fear 
Beholds  his  hour  of  waking  near. 

Ill 

'Much  force  have  mortal  charms  to  stay 
Our  pace  in  Virtue's  toilsome  way; 
But  Guendolen's  might  far  outshine 
Each  maid  of  merely  mortal  line. 
Her  mother  was  of  human  birth, 
Her  sire  a  Genie  of  the  earth, 
In  days  of  old  deemed  to  preside 
O'er  lovers'  wiles  and  beauty's  pride, 
By  youths  and  virgins  worshipped  long 
With  festive  dance  and  choral  song. 
Till,  when  the  cross  to  Britain  came, 
On  heathen  altars  died  the  flame. 
Now,  deep  in  Wastdale  solitude, 
The  downfall  of  his  rights  he  rued, 
And  born  of  his  resentment  heir. 
He  trained  to  guile  that  lady  fair, 
35 


THE  BRIDAL  OF   TRIERMAIN 

To  sink  in  slothful  sin  and  shame 
The  champions  of  the  Christian  name. 
Well  skilled  to  keep  vain  thoughts  alive, 
And  all  to  promise,  nought  to  give, 
The  timid  youth  had  hope  in  store, 
The  bold  and  pressing  gained  no  more. 
As  wildered  children  leave  their  home 
After  the  rainbow's  arch  to  roam, 
Her  lovers  bartered  fair  esteem, 
Faith,  fame,  and  honour,  for  a  dream. 

IV 

'Her  sire's  soft  arts  the  soul  to  tame 
She  practised  thus  —  till  Arthur  came; 
Then  frail  humanity  had  part. 
And  all  the  mother  claimed  her  heart. 
Forgot  each  rule  her  father  gave, 
Sunk  from  a  princess  to  a  slave. 
Too  late  must  Guendolen  deplore, 
He  that  has  all  can  hope  no  more! 
Now  must  she  see  her  lover  strain 
At  every  turn  her  feeble  chain, 
Watch  to  new-bind  each  knot  and  shrink 
To  view  each  fast-decaying  link. 
Art  she  invokes  to  Nature's  aid. 
Her  vest  to  zone,  her  locks  to  braid; 
Each  varied  pleasure  heard  her  call, 
36 


THE  BRIDAL   OF    TRIERMAIN 

The  feast,  the  tourney,  and  the  ball: 
Her  storied  lore  she  next  applies, 
Taxing  her  mind  to  aid  her  eyes; 
Now  more  than  mortal  wise  and  then 
In  female  softness  sunk  again; 
Now  raptured  with  each  wish  complying. 
With  feigned  reluctance  now  denying; 
Each  charm  she  varied  to  retain 
A  varying  heart  —  and  all  in  vain! 

V 

'Thus  in  the  garden's  narrow  bound 
Flanked  by  some  castle's  Gothic  round. 
Fain  would  the  artist's  skill  provide 
The  limits  of  his  realms  to  hide. 
The  walks  in  labyrinths  he  twines, 
Shade  after  shade  with  skill  combines 
With  many  a  varied  flowery  knot, 
And  copse  and  arbour,  decks  the  spot, 
Tempting  the  hasty  foot  to  stay 
And  linger  on  the  lovely  way  — 
Vain  art !  vain  hope !  't  is  fruitless  all ! 
At  length  we  reach  the  bounding  wall ! 
And,  sick  of  flower  and  trim-dressed  tree, 
Long  for  rough  glades  and  forest  free. 


37 


THE   BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

VI 

'Three  summer  months  had  scantly  flown 
When  Arthur  in  embarrassed  tone 
Spoke  of  his  Hegemen  and  his  throne; 
Said  all  too  long  had  been  his  stay, 
And  duties  which  a  monarch  sway, 
Duties  unknown  to  humbler  men, 
Must  tear  her  knight  from  Guendolen. 
She  listened  silently  the  while, 
Her  mood  expressed  in  bitter  smile 
Beneath  her  eye  must  Arthur  quail 
And  oft  resume  the  unfinished  tale, 
Confessing  by  his  downcast  eye 
The  wrong  he  sought  to  justify. 
He  ceased.  A  moment  mute  she  gazed, 
And  then  her  looks  to  heaven  she  raised ; 
One  palm  her  temples  veiled  to  hide 
The  tear  that  sprung  in  spite  of  pride; 
The  other  for  an  instant  pressed 
The  foldings  of  her  silken  vest! 

VII 

'At  her  reproachful  sign  and  look, 
The  hint  the  monarch's  conscience  took. 
Eager  he  spoke  —  "No,  lady,  no! 
Deem  not  of  British  Arthur  so, 
38 


THE   BRIDAL   OF  TRIERMAIN 

Nor  think  he  can  deserter  prove 

To  the  dear  pledge  of  mutual  love. 

I  swear  by  sceptre  and  by  sword, 

As  belted  knight  and  Britain's  lord, 

That  if  a  boy  shall  claim  my  care, 

That  boy  is  born  a  kingdom's  heir; 

But,  if  a  maiden  Fate  allows, 

To  choose  that  mate  a  fitting  spouse, 

A  summer-day  in  lists  shall  strive 

My  knights  —  the  bravest  knights  alive  — 

And  he,  the  best  and  bravest  tried. 

Shall  Arthur's  daughter  claim  for  bride." 

He  spoke  with  voice  resolved  and  high  — 

The  lady  deigned  him  not  reply. 

VIII 

'At  dawn  of  morn  ere  on  the  brake 
His  matins  did  a  warbler  make 
Or  stirred  his  wing  to  brush  away 
A  single  dew-drop  from  the  spray. 
Ere  yet  a  sunbeam  through  the  mist 
The  castle-battlements  had  kissed, 
The  gates  revolve,  the  drawbridge  falls. 
And  Arthur  sallies  from  the  walls. 
Doffed  his  soft  garb  of  Persia's  loom, 
And  steel  from  spur  to  helmet  plume, 
His  Lybian  steed  full  proudly  trode, 
39 


THE   BRIDAL   OF  TRIERMAIN 

And  joyful  neighed  beneath  his  load. 
The  monarch  gave  a  passing  sigh 
To  penitence  and  pleasures  by,  ( 
When,  lo!  to  his  astonished  ken 
Appeared  the  form  of  Guendolen. 

IX 

*  Beyond  the  outmost  wall  she  stood. 
Attired  like  huntress  of  the  wood : 
Sandalled  her  feet,  her  ankles  bare, 
And  eagle-plumage  decked  her  hair; 
Firm  was  her  look,  her  bearing  bold. 
And  in  her  hand  a  cup  of  gold. 
"Thou  goest!"  she  said,  "and  ne'er  again 
Must  we  two  meet  in  joy  or  pain. 
Full  fain  would  I  this  hour  delay, 
Though  weak  the  wish  —  yet  wilt  thou  stay? 
No!  thou  look'st  forward.   Still  attend,  — 
Part  we  like  lover  and  like  friend." 
She  raised  the  cup  —  "Not  this  the  juice 
The  sluggish  vines  of  earth  produce; 
Pledge  we  at  parting  in  the  draught 
Which  Genii  love!"  —  she  said  and  quaffed; 
And  strange  unwonted  lustres  fly 
From  her  flushed  cheek  and  sparkling  eye. 


40 


THE  BRIDAL  OF   TRIERMAIN 

X 

'The  courteous  monarch  bent  him  low 
And,  stooping  down  from  saddlebow, 
Lifted  the  cup  in  act  to  drink. 
A  drop  escaped  the  goblet's  brink  — 
Intense  as  liquid  fire  from  hell, 
Upon  the  charger's  neck  it  fell. 
Screaming  with  agony  and  fright, 
He  bolted  twenty  feet  upright  — 
The  peasant  still  can  show  the  dint 
Where  his  hoofs  lighted  on  the  flint.  — 
From  Arthur's  hand  the  goblet  flew, 
Scattering  a  shower  of  fiery  dew  ^ 
That  burned  and  blighted  where  it  fell ! 
The  frantic  steed  rushed  up  the  dell, 
As  whistles  from  the  bow  the  reed ; 
Nor  bit  nor  rein  could  check  his  speed 

Until  he  gained  the  hill ; 
Then  breath  and  sinew  failed  apace. 
And,  reeling  from  the  desperate  race, 

He  stood  exhausted,  still. 
The  monarch,  breathless  and  amazed. 
Back  on  the  fatal  castle  gazed  — 
Nor  tower  nor  donjon  could  he  spy. 
Darkening  against  the  morning  sky ;  ^ 

'  See  Note  9.  '  See  Note  10. 

41 


THE   BRIDAL   OF   TRIERMAIN 

But  on  the  spot  where  once  they  frowned 
The  lonely  streamlet  brawled  around 
A  tufted  knoll,  where  dimly  shone 
Fragments  of  rock  and  rifted  stone. 
Musing  on  this  strange  hap  the  while, 
The  king  wends  back  to  fair  Carlisle; 
And  cares  that  cumber  royal  sway 
Wore  memory  of  the  past  away. 

XI 

'Full  fifteen  years  and  more  were  sped, 
Each  brought  new  wreaths  to  Arthur's  head. 
Twelve  bloody  fields  with  glory  fought 
The  Saxons  to  subjection  brought:  ^ 
Rython,  the  mighty  giant,  slain 
By  his  good  brand,  relieved  Bretagne: 
The  Pictish  Gillamore  in  fight, 
And  Roman  Lucius,  owned  his  might; 
And  wide  were  through  the  world  renowned 
The  glories  of  his  Table  Round. 
Each  knight  who  sought  adventurous  fame 
To  the  bold  court  of  Britain  came, 
And  all  who  suffered  causeless  wrong. 
From  tyrant  proud  or  faitour  strong, 
Sought  Arthur's  presence  to  complain. 
Nor  there  for  aid  implored  in  vain. 

»  See  Note  ii. 
42 


THE   BRIDAL  OF   TRIERMAIN 

XII 

*For  this  the  king  with  pomp  and  pride 
Held  solemn  court  at  Whitsuntide, 

And  summoned  prince  and  peer, 
All  who  owed  homage  for  their  land, 
Or  who  craved  knighthood  from  his  hand, 
Or  who  had  succour  to  demand, 

To  come  from  far  and  near. 
At  such  high  tide  were  glee  and  game 
Mingled  with  feats  of  martial  fame, 
For  many  a  stranger  champion  came 

In  lists  to  break  a  spear ; 
And  not  a  knight  of  Arthur's  host, 
Save  that  he  trode  some  foreign  coast, 
But  at  this  feast  of  Pentecost 

Before  him  must  appear. 
Ah,  minstrels!  when  the  Table  Round 
Arose  with  all  its  warriors  crowned. 
There  was  a  theme  for  bards  to  sound 

In  triumph  to  their  string! 
Five  hundred  years  are  past  and  gone, 
But  time  shall  draw  his  dying  groan 
Ere  he  behold  the  British  throne 

Begirt  with  such  a  ring ! 


43 


THE   BRIDAL  OF   TRIERMAIN 

XIII 

'The  heralds  named  the  appointed  spot, 
As  Caerleon  or  Camelot, 

Or  Carlisle  fair  and  free. 
At  Penrith  now  the  feast  was  set, 
And  in  fair  Eamont's  vale  were  met 

The  flower  of  chivalry. 
There  Galaad  sate  with  manly  grace, 
Yet  maiden  meekness  in  his  face ; 
There  Morolt  of  the  iron  mace/ 

And  love-lorn  Tristrem  there; 
And  Dinadam  with  lively  glance, 
And  Lanval  with  the  fairy  lance. 
And  Mordred  with  his  look  askance, 

Brunor  and  Bedivere. 
Why  should  I  tell  of  numbers  more? 
Sir  Cay,  Sir  Banier,  and  Sir  Bore, 

Sir  Carodac  the  keen, 
The  gentle  Gawain's  courteous  lore, 
Hector  de  Mares  and  Pellinore, 
And  Lancelot,  that  evermore 

Looked  stolen-wise  on  the  queen.' 

XIV 

'When  wine  and  mirth  did  most  abound 
And  harpers  played  their  blithest  round, 

.  •  See  Note  12.  »  See  Note  13. 

44 


THE   BRIDAL   OF   TRIERMAIN 

A  shrilly  trumpet  shook  the  ground 

And  marshals  cleared  the  ring; 
A  maiden  on  a  palfrey  white, 
Heading  a  band  of  damsels  bright, 
Paced  through  the  circle  to  alight 

And  kneel  before  the  king. 
Arthur  with  strong  emotion  saw 
Her  graceful  boldness  checked  by  awe, 
Her  dress  like  huntress  of  the  wold, 
Her  bow  and  baldric  trapped  with  gold. 
Her  sandalled  feet,  her  ankles  bare, 
And  the  eagle-plume  that  decked  her  hair. 
Graceful  her  veil  she  backward  flung  — 
The  king,  as  from  his  seat  he  sprung, 

Almost  cried,  "Guendolen!" 
But  't  was  a  face  more  frank  and  wild, 
Betwixt  the  woman  and  the  child, 
Where  less  of  magic  beauty  smiled 

Than  of  the  race  of  men; 
And  in  the  forehead's  haughty  grace 
The  lines  of  Britain's  royal  race, 

Pendragon's  you  might  ken. 

XV 

*  Faltering,  yet  gracefully  she  said  — 
"Great  Prince!  behold  an  orphan  maid, 
In  her  departed  mother's  name, 

45 


THE   BRIDAL   OF   TRIERMAIN 

A  father's  vowed  protection  claim! 
The  vow  was  sworn  in  desert  lone 
In  the  deep  valley  of  Saint  John." 
At  once  the  king  the  suppliant  raised, 
And  kissed  her  brow,  her  beauty  praised ; 
His  vow,  he  said,  should  well  be  kept, 
Ere  in  the  sea  the  sun  was  dipped,  — 
Then  conscious  glanced  upon  his  queen: 
But  she,  unruffled  at  the  scene 
Of  human  frailty  construed  mild, 
Looked  upon  Lancelot  and  smiled. 

XVI 

*  Up !  up !  each  knight  of  gallant  crest 

Take  buckler,  spear,  and  brand ! 
He  that  to-day  shall  bear  him  best 

Shall  win  my  Gyneth's  hand. 
And  Arthur's  daughter  when  a  bride 

Shall  bring  a  noble  dower. 
Both  fair  Strath-Clyde  and  Reged  wide, 

And  Carlisle  town  and  tower." 
Then  might  you  hear  each  valiant  knight 

To  page  and  squire  that  cried, 
'Bring  my  armour  bright  and  my  courser  wight; 
'T  is  not  each  day  that  a  warrior's  might 

May  win  a  royal  bride." 
Then  cloaks  and  caps  of  maintenance 

46 


THE   BRIDAL   OF   TRIERMAIN 

In  haste  aside  they  fling; 
The  helmets  glance  and  gleams  the  lance, 

And  the  steel-weaved  hauberks  ring. 
Small  care  had  they  of  their  peaceful  array, 

They  might  gather  it  that  wolde ; 
For  brake  and  bramble  glittered  gay 

With  pearls  and  cloth  of  gold. 

XVII 

'Within  trumpet  sound  of  the  Table  Round, 

Were  fifty  champions  free, 
And  they  all  arise  to  fight  that  prize,  — 

They  all  arise  but  three. 
Nor  love's  fond  troth  nor  wedlock's  oath 

One  gallant  could  withhold. 
For  priests  will  allow  of  a  broken  vow 

For  penance  or  for  gold. 
But  sigh  and  glance  from  ladies  bright 

Among  the  troop  were  thrown. 
To  plead  their  right  and  true-love  plight, 

And  plain  of  honour  flown. 
The  knights  they  busied  them  so  fast 

With  buckling  spur  and  belt 
That  sigh  and  look  by  ladies  cast 

Were  neither  seen  nor  felt. 
From  pleading  or  upbraiding  glance 

Each  gallant  turns  aside, 
47 


'  THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

And  only  thought,  "If  speeds  my  lance, 

A  queen  becomes  my  bride ! 
She  has  fair  Strath-Clyde  and  Reged  wide, 

And  Carlisle  tower  and  town; 
She  is  the  loveliest  maid,  beside, 

That  ever  heired  a  crown." 
So  in  haste  their  coursers  they  bestride 

And  strike  their  visors  down. 

XVIII 

'The  champions,  armed  in  martial  sort, 

Have  thronged  into  the  list. 
And  but  three  knights  of  Arthur's  court 

Are  from  the  tourney  missed. 
And  still  these  lovers'  fame  survives 

For  faith  so  constant  shown,  — 
There  were  two  who  loved  their  neighbours'  wives, 

And  one  who  loved  his  own.^ 
The  first  was  Lancelot  de  Lac, 

The  second  Tristrem  bold, 
The  third  was  valiant  Carodac, 

Who  won  the  cup  of  gold 
What  time,  of  all  King  Arthur's  crew  — 

Thereof  came  jeer  and  laugh  — 
He,  as  the  mate  of  lady  true, 

Alone  the  cup  could  quaff. 

>  See  Note  14. 
48 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

Though  envy's  tongue  would  fain  surmise 

That,  but  for  very  shame, 
Sir  Carodac  to  fight  that  prize* 

Had  given  both  cup  and  dame, 
Yet,  since  but  one  of  that  fair  court 

Was  true  to  wedlock's  shrine, 
Brand  him  who  will  with  base  report. 

He  shall  be  free  from  mine. 

XIX 

*Now  caracoled  the  steeds  in  air. 
Now  plumes  and  pennons  wantoned  fair, 
As  all  around  the  lists  so  wide 
In  panoply  the  champions  ride. 
King  Arthur  saw  with  startled  eye 
The  flower  of  chivalry  march  by. 
The  bulwark  of  the  Christian  creed, 
The  kingdom's  shield  in  hour  of  need. 
Too  late  he  thought  him  of  the  woe 
Might  from  their  civil  conflict  flow; 
For  well  he  knew  they  would  not  part 
Till  cold  was  many  a  gallant  heart. 
His  hasty  vow  he  'gan  to  rue. 
And  Gyneth  then  apart  he  drew; 
To  her  his  leading-staff  resigned. 
But  added  caution  grave  and  kind. 

'  See  Note  15. 
60  49 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

XX 

"Thou  see'st,  my  child,  as  promise-bound, 
I  bid  the  trump  for  tourney  sound. 
Take  thou  my  warder  as  the  queen 
And  umpire  of  the  martial  scene; 
But  mark  thou  this: —  as  Beauty  bright 
Is  polar  star  to  valiant  knight, 
As  at  her  word  his  sword  he  draws. 
His  fairest  guerdon  her  applause, 
So  gentle  maid  should  never  ask 
Of  knighthood  vain  and  dangerous  task; 
And  Beauty's  eyes  should  ever  be 
Like  the  twin  stars  that  soothe  the  sea, 
And  Beauty's  breath  should  whisper  peace 
And  bid  the  storm  of  battle  cease. 
I  tell  thee  this  lest  all  too  far 
These  knights  urge  tourney  into  war. 
Blithe  at  the  trumpet  let  them  go, 
And  fairly  counter  blow  for  blow ;  — 
No  striplings  these,  who  succour  need 
For  a  razed  helm  or  falling  steed. 
But,  Gyneth,  when  the  strife  grows  warm 
And  threatens  death  or  deadly  harm, 
Thy  sire  entreats,  thy  king  commands. 
Thou  drop  the  warder  from  thy  hands. 
Trust  thou  thy  father  with  thy  fate, 
SO 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

Doubt  not  he  choose  thee  fitting  mate ; 
Nor  be  it  said  through  Gyneth's  pride 
A  rose  of  Arthur's  chaplet  died." 

XXI 

*A  proud  and  discontented  glow 
O'ershadowed  Gyneth's  brow  of  snow; 

She  put  the  warder  by :  — 
"Reserve  thy  boon,  my  liege,"  she  said, 
"Thus  chaffered  down  and  limited, 
Debased  and  narrowed  for  a  maid 

Of  less  degree  than  I. 
No  petty  chief  but  holds  his  heir 
At  a  more  honoured  price  and  rare 

Than  Britain's  King  holds  me! 
Although  the  sun-burned  maid  for  dower 
Has  but  her  father's  rugged  tower, 

His  barren  hill  and  lee. 
King  Arthur  swore,  by  crown  and  sword, 
As  belted  knight  and  Britain's  lord. 
That  a  whole  summer's  day  should  strive 
His  knights,  the  bravest  knights  alive! 
Recall  thine  oath !  and  to  her  glen 
Poor  Gyneth  can  return  agen; 
Not  on  thy  daughter  will  the  stain 
That  soils  thy  sword  and  crown  remain. 
But  think  not  she  will  e'er  be  bride 

SI 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

Save  to  the  bravest  proved  and  tried ; 
Pendragon's  daughter  will  not  fear 
For  clashing  sword  or  splintered  spear, 

Nor  shrink  though  blood  should  flow; 
And  all  too  well  sad  Guendolen 
Hath  taught  the  faithlessness  of  men 
That  child  of  hers  should  pity  when 

Their  meed  they  undergo." 


XXII 

*He  frowned  and  sighed,  the  monarch  bold: 
"I  give  —  what  I  may  not  withhold; 
For,  not  for  danger,  dread,  or  death, 
Must  British  Arthur  break  his  faith. 
Too  late  I  mark  thy  mother's  art 
Hath  taught  thee  this  relentless  part. 
I  blame  her  not,  for  she  had  wrong, 
But  not  to  these  my  faults  belong. 
Use  then  the  warder  as  thou  wilt; 
But  trust  me  that,  if  life  be  spilt, 
In  Arthur's  love,  in  Arthur's  grace, 
Gyneth  shall  lose  a  daughter's  place." 
With  that  he  turned  his  head  aside, 
Nor  brooked  to  gaze  upon  her  pride, 
As  with  the  truncheon  raised  she  sate 
The  arbi tress  of  mortal  fate; 
52 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

Nor  brooked  to  mark  in  ranks  disposed 
How  the  bold  champions  stood  opposed, 
For  shrill  the  trumpet-flourish  fell 
Upon  his  ear  like  passing  bell ! 
Then  first  from  sight  of  martial  fray 
Did  Britain's  hero  turn  away. 

XXIII 

'But  Gyneth  heard  the  clangour  high 
As  hears  the  hawk  the  partridge  cry. 
O,  blame  her  not!  the  blood  was  hers 
That  at  the  trumpet's  summons  stirs!  — 
And  e'en  the  gentlest  female  eye 
Might  the  brave  strife  of  chivalry 

Awhile  untroubled  view; 
So  well  accomplished  was  each  knight 
To  strike  and  to  defend  in  fight, 
Their  meeting  was  a  goodly  sight 

While  plate  and  mail  held  true. 
The  lists  with  painted  plumes  were  strown, 
Upon  the  wind  at  random  thrown, 
But  helm  and  breastplate  bloodless  shone, 
It  seemed  their  feathered  crests  alone 

Should  this  encounter  rue. 
And  ever,  as  the  combat  grows. 
The  trumpet's  cheery  voice  arose. 
Like  lark's  shrill  song  the  flourish  flows, 

53 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

Heard  while  the  gale  of  April  blows 
The  merry  greenwood  through. 


XXIV 

'But  soon  to  earnest  grew  their  game, 
The  spears  drew  blood,  the  swords  struck  flame, 
And,  horse  and  man,  to  ground  there  came 

Knights  who  shall  rise  no  more ! 
Gone  was  the  pride  the  war  that  graced, 
Gay  shields  were  cleft  and  crests  defaced, 
And  steel  coats  riven  and  helms  unbraced, 

And  pennons  streamed  with  gore. 
Gone  too  were  fence  and  fair  array. 
And  desperate  strength  made  deadly  way 
At  random  through  the  bloody  fray, 
And  blows  were  dealt  with  headlong  sway, 

Unheeding  where  they  fell ; 
And  now  the  trumpet's  clamours  seem 
Like  the  shrill  sea-bird's  wailing  scream 
Heard  o'er  the  whirlpool's  gulfing  stream, 

The  sinking  seaman's  knell ! 

XXV 

'Seemed  in  this  dismal  hour  that  Fate 
Would  Camlan's  ruin  antedate. 
And  spare  dark  Mordred's  crime; 
54 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

Already  gasping  on  the  ground 
Lie  twenty  of  the  Table  Round, 

Of  chivalry  the  prime. 
Arthur  in  anguish  tore  away 
From  head  and  beard  his  tresses  grey, 
And  she,  proud  Gyneth,  felt  dismay 

And  quaked  with  ruth  and  fear; 
But  still  she  deemed  her  mother's  shade 
Hung  o'er  the  tumult,  and  forbade 
The  sign  that  had  the  slaughter  staid, 

And  chid  the  rising  tear. 
Then  Brunor,  Taulas,  Mador,  fell, 
Helias  the  White,  and  Lionel, 

And  many  a  champion  more ; 
Rochemont  and  Dinadam  are  down, 
And  Ferrand  of  the  Forest  Brown 

Lies  gasping  in  his  gore. 
Vanoc,  by  mighty  Morolt  pressed 
Even  to  the  confines  of  the  list, 
Young  Vanoc  of  the  beardless  face  — 
Fame  spoke  the  youth  of  Merlin's  race  — 
O'erpowered  at  Gyneth 's  footstool  bled, 
His  heart's-blood  dyed  her  sandals  red. 
But  then  the  sky  was  overcast, 
Then  howled  at  once  a  whirlwind's  blast, 

And,  rent  by  sudden  throes. 
Yawned  in  mid  lists  the  quaking  earth, 
55 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

And  from  the  gulf  —  tremendous  birth!  — 
The  form  of  Merlin  rose. 


XXVI 

'Sternly  the  Wizard  Prophet  eyed 

The  dreary  lists  with  slaughter  dyed, 
And  sternly  raised  his  hand :  — 

"Madmen,"  he  said,  "your  strife  forbear! 

And  thou,  fair  cause  of  mischief,  hear 

The  doom  thy  fates  demand ! 
Long  shall  close  in  stony  sleep 
Eyes  for  ruth  that  would  not  weep; 
Iron  lethargy  shall  seal 
Heart  that  pity  scorned  to  feel. 
Yet,  because  thy  mother's  art 
Warped  thine  unsuspicious  heart, 
And  for  love  of  Arthur's  race, 
Punishment  is  blent  with  grace. 
Thou  shalt  bear  thy  penance  lone 
In  the  Valley  of  Saint  John, 
And  this  weird  shall  overtake  thee; 
Sleep  until  a  knight  shall  wake  thee, 
For  feats  of  arms  as  far  renowned 
As  warrior  of  the  Table  Round. 
Long  endurance  of  thy  slumber 
Well  may  teach  the  world  to  number 
56 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

All  their  woes  from  Gyneth's  pride, 
When  the  Red  Cross  champions  died." 

XXVII 

'As  Merlin  speaks,  on  Gyneth's  eye 
Slumber's  load  begins  to  lie; 
Fear  and  anger  vainly  strive 
Still  to  keep  its  light  alive. 
Twice  with  effort  and  with  pause 
O'er  her  brow  her  hand  she  draws; 
Twice  her  strength  in  vain  she  tries 
From  the  fatal  chair  to  rise; 
Merlin's  magic  doom  is  spoken, 
Vanoc's  death  must  now  be  wroken. 
Slow  the  dark-fringed  eyelids  fall, 
Curtaining  each  azure  ball. 
Slowly  as  on  summer  eves 
Violets  fold  their  dusky  leaves. 
The  weighty  baton  of  command 
Now  bears  down  her  sinking  hand, 
On  her  shoulder  droops  her  head ; 
Net  of  pearl  and  golden  thread 
Bursting  gave  her  locks  to  flow 
O'er  her  arm  and  breast  of  snow. 
And  so  lovely  seemed  she  there, 
Spell-bound  in  her  ivory  chair, 
That  her  angry  sire,  repenting, 
57 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

Craved  stern  Merlin  for  relenting, 
And  the  champions  for  her  sake 
Would  again  the  contest  wake; 
Till  in  necromantic  night 
Gyneth  vanished  from  their  sight. 

XXVIII 

'Still  she  bears  her  weird  alone 
In  the  Valley  of  Saint  John; 
And  her  semblance  oft  will  seem, 
Mingling  in  a  champion's  dream, 
Of  her  weary  lot  to  plain 
And  crave  his  aid  to  burst  her  chain. 
While  her  wondrous  tale  was  new 
Warriors  to  her  rescue  drew, 
East  and  west,  and  south  and  north, 
From  the  Liffy,  Thames,  and  Forth. 
Most  have  sought  in  vain  the  glen, 
Tower  nor  castle  could  they  ken; 
Not  at  every  time  or  tide, 
Nor  by  every  eye,  descried. 
Fast  and  vigil  must  be  borne, 
Many  a  night  in  watching  worn. 
Ere  an  eye  of  mortal  powers 
Can  discern  those  magic  towers. 
Of  the  persevering  few 
Some  from  hopeless  task  withdrew 
58 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

When  they  read  the  dismal  threat 
Graved  upon  the  gloomy  gate. 
Few  have  braved  the  yawning  door, 
And  those  few  returned  no  more. 
In  the  lapse  of  time  forgot, 
Well  nigh  lost  is  Gyneth's  lot; 
Sound  her  sleep  as  in  the  tomb 
Till  wakened  by  the  trump  of  doom.' 

END    OF  LYULPH's   TALE 

I 

Here  pause,  my  tale;  for  all  too  soon, 
My  Lucy,  comes  the  hour  of  noon. 
Already  from  thy  lofty  dome 
Its  courtly  inmates  'gin  to  roam, 
And  each,  to  kill  the  goodly  day 
That  God  has  granted  them,  his  way 
Of  lazy  sauntering  has  sought ; 

Lordlings  and  witlings  not  a  few. 
Incapable  of  doing  aught, 

Yet  ill  at  ease  with  nought  to  do. 
Here  is  no  longer  place  for  me ; 
For,  Lucy,  thou  wouldst  blush  to  see 
Some  phantom  fashionably  thin. 
With  limb  of  lath  and  kerchiefed  chin. 
And  lounging  gape  or  sneering  grin, 
Steal  sudden  on  our  privacy. 
59 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

And  how  should  I,  so  humbly  born, 
Endure  the  graceful  spectre's  scorn? 
Faith!  ill,  I  fear,  while  conjuring  wand 
Of  English  oak  is  hard  at  hand. 

II 

Or  grant  the  hour  be  all  too  soon 
For  Hessian  boot  and  pantaloon, 
And  grant  the  lounger  seldom  strays 
Beyond  the  smooth  and  gravelled  maze, 
Laud  we  the  gods  that  Fashion's  train 
Holds  hearts  of  more  adventurous  strain. 
Artists  are  hers  who  scorn  to  trace 
Their  rules  from  Nature's  boundless  grace, 
But  their  right  paramount  assert 
To  limit  her  by  pedant  art. 
Damning  whate'er  of  vast  and  fair 
Exceeds  a  canvas  three  feet  square. 
This  thicket,  for  their  gumption  fit, 
May  furnish  such  a  happy  bit. 
Bards  too  are  hers,  wont  to  recite 
Their  own  sweet  lays  by  waxen  light, 
Half  in  the  salver's  tingle  drowned. 
While  the  chasse-cafe  glides  around ; 
And  such  may  hither  secret  stray 
To  labor  an  extempore: 
Or  sportsman  with  his  boisterous  hollo 
60 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

May  here  his  wiser  spaniel  follow, 
Or  stage-struck  Juliet  may  presume 
To  choose  this  bower  for  tiring-room ; 
And  we  alike  must  shun  regard 
From  painter,  player,  sportsman,  bard. 
Insects  that  skim  in  Fashion's  sky, 
Wasp,  blue-bottle,  or  butterfly, 
Lucy,  have  all  alarms  for  us, 
For  all  can  hum  and  all  can  buzz. 

Ill 

But  O,  my  Lucy,  say  how  long 
We  still  must  dread  this  trifling  throng, 
And  stoop  to  hide  with  coward  art 
The  genuine  feelings  of  the  heart! 
No  parents  thine  whose  just  command 
Should  rule  their  child's  obedient  hand; 
Thy  guardians  with  contending  voice 
Press  each  his  individual  choice. 
And  which  is  Lucy's?  —  Can  it  be 
That  puny  fop,  trimmed  cap-a-pee, 
Who  loves  in  the  saloon  to  show 
The  arms  that  never  knew  a  foe; 
Whose  sabre  trails  along  the  ground. 
Whose  legs  in  shapeless  boots  are  drowned; 
A  new  Achilles,  sure  —  the  steel 
Fled  from  his  breast  to  fence  his  heel ; 
6i 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

One,  for  the  simple  manly  grace 
That  wont  to  deck  our  martial  race, 
Who  comes  in  foreign  trashery 

Of  tinkling  chain  and  spur, 
A  walking  haberdashery 
Of  feathers,  lace,  and  fur: 
In  Rowley's  antiquated  phrase, 
Horse-milliner  of  modern  days? 


IV 

Or  Is  it  he,  the  wordy  youth, 

So  early  trained  for  statesman's  part, 

Who  talks  of  honour,  faith  and  truth, 
As  themes  that  he  has  got  by  heart; 
Whose  ethics  Chesterfield  can  teach. 
Whose  logic  is  from  Single-speech ; 
Who  scorns  the  meanest  thought  to  vent 
Save  in  the  phrase  of  Parliament ; 
Who,  In  a  tale  of  cat  and  mouse, 
Calls  'order,'  and  'divides  the  house,* 
Who  'craves  permission  to  reply,' 
Whose  'noble  friend  is  in  his  eye*; 
Whose  loving  tender  some  have  reckoned 
A  motion  you  should  gladly  second  ? 


62 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

V 

What,  neither?  Can  there  be  a  third, 
To  such  resistless  swains  preferred  ?  — 
O  why,  my  Lucy,  turn  aside 
With  that  quick  glance  of  injured  pride? 
Forgive  me,  love,  I  cannot  bear 
That  altered  and  resentful  air. 
Were  all  the  wealth  of  Russell  mine 
And  all  the  rank  of  Howard's  line, 
All  would  I  give  for  leave  to  dry 
That  dew-drop  trembling  in  thine  eye. 
Think  not  I  fear  such  fops  can  wile 
From  Lucy  more  than  careless  smile; 
But  yet  if  wealth  and  high  degree 
Give  gilded  counters  currency. 
Must  I  not  fear  when  rank  and  birth 
Stamp  the  pure  ore  of  genuine  worth? 
Nobles  there  are  whose  martial  fires 
Rival  the  fame  that  raised  their  sires. 
And  patriots,  skilled  through  storms  of  fate 
To  guide  and  guard  the  reeling  state. 
Such,  such  there  are  —  If  such  should  come, 
Arthur  must  tremble  and  be  dumb. 
Self-exiled  seek  some  distant  shore. 
And  mourn  till  life  and  grief  are  o'er. 


63 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

VI 

What  sight,  what  signal  of  alarm, 
That  Lucy  clings  to  Arthur's  arm? 
Or  is  it  that  the  rugged  way 
Makes  Beauty  lean  on  lover's  stay? 
O,  no !  for  on  the  vale  and  brake 
Nor  sight  nor  sounds  of  danger  wake, 
And  this  trim  sward  of  velvet  green 
Were  carpet  for  the  Fairy  Queen. 
That  pressure  slight  was  but  to  tell 
That  Lucy  loves  her  Arthur  well, 
And  fain  would  banish  from  his  mind 
Suspicious  fear  and  doubt  unkind. 

VII 

But  wouldst  thou  bid  the  demons  fly 
Like  mist  before  the  dawning  sky, 
There  is  but  one  resistless  spell  — 
Say,  wilt  thou  guess  or  must  I  tell? 
'T  were  hard  to  name  in  minstrel  phrase 
A  landaulet  and  four  blood-bays, 
But  bards  agree  this  wizard  band 
Can  but  be  bound  in  Northern  land. 
*T  is  there  —  nay,  draw  not  back  thy  hand ! 
*T  is  there  this  slender  finger  round 
Must  golden  amulet  be  bound, 
64 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

Which,  blessed  with  many  a  holy  prayer, 
Can  change  to  rapture  lovers'  care, 
And  doubt  and  jealousy  shall  die, 
And  fears  give  place  to  ecstasy. 

VIII 

Now,  trust  me,  Lucy,  all  too  long 
Has  been  thy  lover's  tale  and  song. 
O,  why  so  silent,  love,  I  pray? 
Have  I  not  spoke  the  livelong  day? 
And  will  not  Lucy  deign  to  say 

One  word  her  friend  to  bless? 
I  ask  but  one  —  a  simple  sound, 
Within  three  little  letters  bound  — 

O,  let  the  word  be  YES! 

60 


CANTO  THIRD 

INTRODUCTION 
I 

Long  loved,  long  wooed,  and  lately  won, 
My  life's  best  hope,  and  now  mine  own! 
Doth  not  this  rude  and  Alpine  glen 
Recall  our  favourite  haunts  agen? 
A  wild  resemblance  we  can  trace, 
Though  reft  of  every  softer  grace, 
As  the  rough  warrior's  brow  may  bear 
A  likeness  to  a  sister  fair. 
Full  well  advised  our  Highland  host 
That  this  wild  pass  on  foot  be  crossed. 
While  round  Ben-Cruach's  mighty  base 
Wheel  the  slow  steeds  and  lingering  chase. 
The  keen  old  carle,  with  Scottish  pride 
He  praised  his  glen  and  mountains  wide ; 
An  eye  he  bears  for  Nature's  face. 
Ay,  and  for  woman's  lovely  grace. 
Even  in  such  mean  degree  we  find 
The  subtle  Scot's  observing  mind ; 
For  nor  the  chariot  nor  the  train 
Could  gape  of  vulgar  wonder  gain, 
66 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

But  when  old  Allan  would  expound 
Of  Beal-na-paish  ^  the  Celtic  sound, 
His  bonnet  doffed  and  bow  applied 
His  legend  to  my  bonny  bride; 
While  Lucy  blushed  beneath  his  eye, 
Courteous  and  cautious,  shrewd  and  sly. 


II 

Enough  of  him.  —  Now,  ere  we  lose, 
Plunged  in  the  vale,  the  distant  views, 
Turn  thee,  my  love!  look  back  once  more 
To  the  blue  lake's  retiring  shore. 
On  its  smooth  breast  the  shadows  seem 
Like  objects  in  a  morning  dream, 
What  time  the  slumberer  is  aware 
He  sleeps  and  all  the  vision's  air: 
Even  so  on  yonder  liquid  lawn. 
In  hues  of  bright  reflection  drawn, 
Distinct  the  shaggy  mountains  lie. 
Distinct  the  rocks,  distinct  the  sky; 
The  summer-clouds  so  plain  we  note 
That  we  might  count  each  dappled  spot: 
We  gaze  and  we  admire,  yet  know 
The  scene  is  all  delusive  show. 
Such  dreams  of  bliss  would  Arthur  draw 

>  The  Vale  of  the  Bridal. 
67 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

When  first  his  Lucy's  form  he  saw, 
Yet  sighed  and  sickened  as  he  drew, 
Despairing  they  could  e'er  prove  true! 


Ill 

But,  Lucy,  turn  thee  now  to  view 

Up  the  fair  glen  our  destined  way: 
The  fairy  path  that  we  pursue, 
Distinguished  but  by  greener  hue, 

Winds  round  the  purple  brae, 
While  Alpine  flowers  of  varied  dye 
For  carpet  serve  or  tapestry. 
See  how  the  little  runnels  leap 
In  threads  of  silver  down  the  steep 

To  swell  the  brooklet's  moan! 
Seems  that  the  Highland  Naiad  grieves, 
Fantastic  while  her  crown  she  weaves 
Of  rowan,  birch,  and  alder  leaves, 

So  lovely  and  so  lone. 
There  '-s  no  illusion  there ;  these  flowers, 
That  wailing  brook,  these  lovely  bowers, 

Are,  Lucy,  all  our  own; 
And,  since  thine  Arthur  called  thee  wife, 
Such  seems  the  prospect  of  his  life, 
A  lovely  path  on-winding  still 
By  gurgling  brook  and  sloping  hill. 
68 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

*T  is  true  that  mortals  cannot  tell 
What  waits  them  in  the  distant  dell ; 
But  be  it  hap  or  be  it  harm, 
We  tread  the  pathway  arm  in  arm. 

IV 

And  now,  my  Lucy,  wot'st  thou  why 
I  could  thy  bidding  twice  deny. 
When  twice  you  prayed  I  would  again 
Resume  the  legendary  strain 
Of  the  bold  knight  of  Triermain? 
At  length  yon  peevish  vow  you  swore 
That  you  would  sue  to  me  no  more, 
Until  the  minstrel  fit  drew  near 
And  made  me  prize  a  listening  ear. 
But,  loveliest,  when  thou  first  didst  pray 
Continuance  of  the  knightly  lay, 
Was  it  not  on  the  happy  day 

That  made  thy  hand  mine  own? 
When,  dizzied  with  mine  ecstasy. 
Nought  past,  or  present,  or  to  be, 
Could  I  or  think  on,  hear,  or  see, 

Save,  Lucy,  thee  alone! 
A  giddy  draught  my  rapture  was 
As  ever  chemist's  magic  gas. 


69 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

V 

Again  the  summons  I  denied 
In  yon  fair  capital  of  Clyde: 
My  harp  —  or  let  me  rather  choose 
The  good  old  classic  form  —  my  Muse  — 
For  harp's  an  over-scutch^d  phrase, 
Worn  out  by  bards  of  modern  days  — 
My  Muse,  then  —  seldom  will  she  wake, 
Save  by  dim  wood  and  silent  lake ; 
She  is  the  wild  and  rustic  maid 
Whose  foot  unsandalled  loves  to  tread 
Where  the  soft  greensward  is  inlaid 

With  varied  moss  and  thyme; 
And,  lest  the  simple  lily-braid, 
That  coronets  her  temples,  fade,  ^ 
She  hides  her  still  in  greenwood  shade 

To  meditate  her  rhyme. 


VI 

And  now  she  comes !  The  murmur  dear 
Of  the  wild  brook  hath  caught  her  ear, 

The  glade  hath  won  her  eye ; 
She  longs  to  join  with  each  blithe  rill 
That  dances  down  the  Highland  hill 

Her  blither  melody. 
70 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

And  now  my  Lucy's  way  to  cheer 
She  bids  Ben-Cruach's  echoes  hear 
How  closed  the  tale  my  love  whilere 

Loved  for  its  chivalry. 
List  how  she  tells  in  notes  of  flame 
'Child  Roland  to  the  dark  tower  came!* 


CANTO  THIRD 

I 

Bewcastle  now  must  keep  the  hold, 

Speir-Adam's  steeds  must  bide  in  stall. 
Of  Hartley-burn  the  bowmen  bold 

Must  only  shoot  from  battled  wall; 
And  Liddesdale  may  buckle  spur, 

And  Teviot  now  may  belt  the  brand, 
Tarras  and  Ewes  keep  nightly  stir. 

And  Eskdale  foray  Cumberland. 
Of  wasted  fields  and  plundered  flocks 

The  Borderers  bootless  may  complain ; 
They  lack  the  sword  of  brave  De  Vaux, 

There  comes  no  aid  from  Triermain. 
That  lord  on  high  adventure  bound 

Hath  wandered  forth  alone, 
And  day  and  night  keeps  watchful  round 

In  the  valley  of  Saint  John. 


II 

When  first  began  his  vigil  bold 
The  moon  twelve  summer  nights  was  old 
And  shone  both  fair  and  full ; 
72 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

High  in  the  vault  of  cloudless  blue, 
O'er  streamlet,  dale,  and  rock,  she  threw 

Her  light  composed  and  cool. 
Stretched  on  the  brown  hill's  heathy  breast, 

Sir  Roland  eyed  the  vale; 
Chief  where,  distinguished  from  the  rest, 
Those  clustering  rocks  upreared  their  crest, 
The  dwelling  of  the  fair  distressed, 

As  told  grey  Lyulph's  tale. 
Thus  as  he  lay,  the  lamp  of  night 
Was  quivering  on  his  armour  bright 

In  beams  that  rose  and  fell. 
And  danced  upon  his  buckler's  boss 
That  lay  beside  him  on  the  moss 

As  on  a  crystal  well. 

Ill 

Ever  he  watched  and  oft  he  deemed, 

While  on  the  mound  the  moonlight  streamed. 

It  altered  to  his  eyes; 
Fain  would  he  hope  the  rocks  'gan  change 
To  buttressed  walls  their  shapeless  range. 
Fain  think  by  transmutation  strange 

He  saw  grey  turrets  rise. 
But  scarce  his  heart  with  hope  throbbed  high 
Before  the  wild  illusions  fly 

Which  fancy  had  conceived, 

73 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

Abetted  by  an  anxious  eye, 

That  longed  to  be  deceived. 
It  was  a  fond  deception  all, 
Such  as  in  solitary  hall 

Beguiles  the  musing  eye 
When,  gazing  on  the  sinking  fire. 
Bulwark,  and  battlement,  and  spire 

In  the  red  gulf  we  spy. 
For,  seen  by  moon  of  middle  night, 
Or  by  the  blaze  of  noontide  bright, 
Or  by  the  dawn  of  morning  light, 

Or  evening's  western  flame. 
In  every  tide,  at  every  hour. 
In  mist,  in  sunshine,  and  in  shower. 

The  rocks  remained  the  same. 


IV 

Oft  has  he  traced  the  charmed  mound, 
Oft  climbed  its  crest  or  paced  it  round, 

Yet  nothing  might  explore. 
Save  that  the  crags  so  rudely  piled. 
At  distance  seen,  resemblance  wild 

To  a  rough  fortress  bore. 
,  Yet  still  his  watch  the  warrior  keeps. 
Feeds  hard  and  spare,  and  seldom  sleeps, 

And  drinks  but  of  the  well; 
74 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

Ever  by  day  he  walks  the  hill, 
And  when  the  evening  gale  is  chill 

He  seeks  a  rocky  cell, 
Like  hermit  poor  to  bid  his  bead, 
And  tell  his  Ave  and  his  Creed, 
Invoking  every  saint  at  need 

For  aid  to  burst  his  spell. 

V 

And  now  the  moon  her  orb  has  hid 
And  dwindled  to  a  silver  thread, 

Dim  seen  in  middle  heaven, 
jWhile  o'er  its  curve  careering  fast 
Before  the  fury  of  the  blast 

The  midnight  clouds  are  driven. 
The  brooklet  raved,  for  on  the  hills 
The  upland  showers  had  swoln  the  rills 

And  down  the  torrents  came; 
Muttered  the  distant  thunder  dread. 
And  frequent  o'er  the  vale  was  spread 

A  sheet  of  lightning  flame. 
De  Vaux  within  his  mountain  cave  — 
No  human  step  the  storm  durst  brave  — 
To  moody  meditation  gave 

Each  faculty  of  soul. 
Till,  lulled  by  distant  torrent  sound 
And  the  sad  winds  that  whistled  round, 
75 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

Upon  his  thoughts  in  musing  drowned 
A  broken  slumber  stole. 


VI 

'T  was  then  was  heard  a  heavy  sound  — 

Sound,  strange  and  fearful  there  to  hear, 
'Mongst  desert  hills  where  leagues  around 

Dwelt  but  the  gorcock  and  the  deer. 
As,  starting  from  his  couch  of  fern, 
Again  he  heard  in  clangour  stern 

That  deep  and  solemn  swell. 
Twelve  times  in  measured  tone  it  spoke, 
Like  some  proud  minster's  pealing  clock 

Or  city's  larum-bell. 
What  thought  was  Roland's  first  when  fell 
In  that  deep  wilderness  the  knell 

Upon  his  startled  ear? 
To  slander  warrior  were  I  loath, 
Yet  must  I  hold  my  minstrel  troth  — 

It  was  a  thought  of  fear. 

VII 

But  lively  was  the  mingled  thrill 
That  chased  that  momentary  chill, 
For  Love's  keen  wish  was  there, 
And  eager  Hope,  and  Valour  high, 
76 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

And  the  proud  glow  of  Chivalry 

That  burned  to  do  and  dare. 
Forth  from  the  cave  the  warrior  rushed, 
Long  ere  the  mountain-voice  was  hushed 

That  answered  to  the  knell ; 
For  long  and  far  the  unwonted  sound, 
Eddying  in  echoes  round  and  round, 

Was  tossed  from  fell  to  fell; 
And  Glaramara  answer  flung, 
And  Grisdale-pike  responsive  rung, 
And  Legbert  heights  their  echoes  swung 

As  far  as  Derwent's  dell. 

VIII 

Forth  upon  trackless  darkness  gazed 
The  knight,  bedeafened  and  amazed, 

Till  all  was  hushed  and  still, 
Save  the  swoln  torrent's  sullen  roar. 
And  the  night-blast  that  wildly  bore 

Its  course  along  the  hill. 
Then  on  the  northern  sky  there  came 
A  light  as  of  reflected  flame, 

And  over  Legbert-head, 
As  if  by  magic  art  controlled, 
A  mighty  meteor  slowly  rolled 

Its  orb  of  fiery  red ; 
Thou  wouldst  have  thought  some  demon  dire 
77 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

Came  mounted  on  that  car  of  fire 

To  do  his  errand  dread. 
Far  on  the  sloping  valley's  course, 
On  thicket,  rock,  and  torrent  hoarse, 
Shingle  and  Scrae,  and  Fell  and  Force, 

A  dusky  light  arose: 
Displayed,  yet  altered  was  the  scene; 
Dark  rock,  and  brook  of  silver  sheen, 
Even  the  gay  thicket's  summer  green, 

In  bloody  tincture  glows. 

IX 

De  Vaux  had  marked  the  sunbeams  set 
At  eve  upon  the  coronet 

Of  that  enchanted  mound. 
And  seen  but  crags  at  random  flung. 
That,  o'er  the  brawling  torrent  hung, 

In  desolation  frowned. 
What  sees  he  by  that  meteor's  lour?  — 
A  bannered  castle,  keep,  and  tower 

Return  the  lurid  gleam. 
With  battled  walls  and  buttress  fast, 
And  barbican  and  ballium  vast, 
And  airy  flanking  towers  that  cast 

Their  shadows  on  the  stream. 
'T  is  no  deceit !  distinctly  clear 
Crenell  and  parapet  appear, 
78 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIER:MAIN 

While  o'er  the  pile  that  meteor  drear  j 

Makes  momentary  pause; 
Then  forth  its  solemn  path  it  drew, 
And  fainter  yet  and  fainter  grew 
Those  gloomy  towers  upon  the  view, 

As  its  wild  light  withdraws. 

X 

Forth  from  the  cave  did  Roland  rush, 

O'er  crag  and  stream,  through  brier  and  bush; 

Yet  far  he  had  not  sped 
Ere  sunk  was  that  portentous  light 
Behind  the  hills  and  utter  night 

Was  on  the  valley  spread. 
He  paused  perforce  and  blew  his  horn, 
And,  on  the  mountain-echoes  borne, 

Was  heard  an  answering  sound, 
A  wild  and  lonely  trumpet  note,  — 
In  middle  air  it  seemed  to  float 

High  o'er  the  battled  mound ; 
And  sounds  were  heard  as  when  a  guard 
Of  some  proud  castle,  holding  ward, 

Pace  forth  their  nightly  round. 
The  valiant  Knight  of  Triermain 
Rung  forth  his  challenge-blast  again, 

But  answer  came  there  none; 
And  mid  the  mingled  wind  and  rain 
79 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

Darkling  he  sought  the  vale  in  vain, 

Until  the  dawning  shone; 
And  when  it  dawned  that  wondrous  sight 
Distinctly  seen  by  meteor  light, 

It  all  had  passed  away! 
And  that  enchanted  mount  once  more 
A  pile  of  granite  fragments  bore 

As  at  the  close  of  day. 

XI 

Steeled  for  the  deed,  De  Vaux's  heart 
Scorned  from  his  vent'rous  quest  to  part 

He  walks  the  vale  once  more ; 
But  only  sees  by  night  or  day 
That  shattered  pile  of  rocks  so  grey, 

Hears  but  the  torrent's  roar: 
Till  when,  through  hills  of  azure  borne. 
The  moon  renewed  her  silver  horn, 
Just  at  the  time  her  waning  ray 
Had  faded  in  the  dawning  day, 

A  summer  mist  arose; 
Adown  the  vale  the  vapours  float, 
And  cloudy  undulations  moat 
That  tufted  mound  of  mystic  note, 

As  round  its  base  they  close. 
And  higher  now  the  fleecy  tide 
Ascends  its  stern  and  shaggy  side, 
80 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

Until  the  airy  billows  hide 

The  rock's  majestic  isle; 
It  seemed  a  veil  of  filmy  lawn, 
By  some  fantastic  fairy  drawn 

Around  enchanted  pile. 

XII 

The  breeze  came  softly  down  the  brook, 

And,  sighing  as  it  blew. 
The  veil  of  silver  mist  it  shook 
And  to  De  Vaux's  eager  look 

Renewed  that  wondrous  view. 
For,  though  the  loitering  vapour  braved 
The  gentle  breeze,  yet  oft  it  waved 

Its  mantle's  dewy  fold; 
And  still  when  shook  that  filmy  screen 
Were  towers  and  bastions  dimly  seen, 
And  Gothic  battlements  between 

Their  gloomy  length  unrolled. 
Speed,  speed,  De  Vaux,  ere  on  thine  eye 
Once  more  the  fleeting  vision  die!  — 

The  gallant  knight  'gan  speed 
As  prompt  and  light  as,  when  the  hound 
Is  opening  and  the  horn  is  wound. 

Careers  the  hunter's  steed. 
Down  the  steep  dell  his  course  amain 

Hath  rivalled  archer's  shaft; 

50  8l 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

But  ere  the  mound  he  could  attain 
The  rocks  their  shapeless  form  regain, 
And,  mocking  loud  his  labor  vain, 

The  mountain  spirits  laughed. 
Far  up  the  echoing  dell  was  borne 
Their  wild  unearthly  shout  of  scorn. 

XIII 

Wroth  waxed  the  warrior.  —  '  Am  I  then 
Fooled  by  the  enemies  of  men, 
Like  a  poor  hind  whose  homeward  way 
Is  haunted  by  malicious  fay? 
Is  Triermain  become  your  taunt, 
De  Vaux  your  scorn?  False  fiends,  avaunt!* 
A  weighty  curtal-axe  he  bare ; 
The  baleful  blade  so  bright  and  square. 
And  the  tough  shaft  of  heben  wood. 
Were  oft  in  Scottish  gore  imbrued. 
Backward  his  stately  form  he  drew, 
And  at  the  rocks  the  weapon  threw   • 
Just  where  one  crag's  projected  crest 
Hung  proudly  balanced  o'er  the  rest. 
Hurled  with  main  force  the  weapon's  shock 
Rent  a  huge  fragment  of  the  rock. 
If  by  mere  strength,  't  were  hard  to  tell, 
Or  if  the  blow  dissolved  some  spell. 
But  down  the  headlong  ruin  came 
82 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

With  cloud  of  dust  and  flash  of  flame. 
Down  bank,  o'er  bush,  its  course  was  borne, 
Crushed  lay  the  copse,  the  earth  was  torn, 
Till  staid  at  length  the  ruin  dread 
Cumbered  the  torrent's  rocky  bed. 
And  bade  the  waters'  high-swoln  tide 
Seek  other  passage  for  its  pride. 

XIV 

When  ceased  that  thunder  Triermain 
Surveyed  the  mound's  rude  front  again; 
And  lo!  the  ruin  had  laid  bare, 
Hewn  in  the  stone,  a  winding  stair 
Whose  mossed  and  fractured  steps  might  lend 
The  means  the  summit  to  ascend; 
And  by  whose  aid  the  brave  De  Vaux 
Began  to  scale  these  magic  rocks, 

And  soon  a  platform  won 
Where,  the  wild  witchery  to  close, 
Within  three  lances'  length  arose 

The  Castle  of  Saint  John! 
No  misty  phantom  of  the  air, 
No  meteor-blazoned  show  was  there; 
In  morning  splendour  full  and  fair 

The  massive  fortress  shone. 


83 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

XV 

Embattled  high  and  proudly  towered, 
Shaded  by  ponderous  flankers,  lowered 

The  portal's  gloomy  way. 
Though  for  six  hundred  years  and  more 
Its  strength  had  brooked  the  tempest's  roar, 
The  scutcheoned  emblems  which  it  bore 

Had  suffered  no  decay : 
But  from  the  eastern  battlement 
A  turret  had  made  sheer  descent, 
And,  down  in  recent  ruin  rent. 

In  the  mid  torrent  lay. 
Else,  o'er  the  castle's  brow  sublime, 
Insults  of  violence  or  of  time 

Unfelt  had  passed  away. 
In  shapeless  characters  of  yore. 
The  gate  this  stern  inscription  bore: 

XVI 
INSCRIPTION 

'Patience  waits  the  destined  day, 
Strength  can  clear  the  cumbered  way. 
Warrior,  who  hast  waited  long, 
Firm  of  soul,  of  sinew  strong, 
It  is  given  to  thee  to  gaze 
On  the  pile  of  ancient  days. 
84 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

Never  mortal  builder's  hand 
This  enduring  fabric  planned ; 
Sign  and  sigil,  word  of  power, 
From  the  earth  raised  keep  and  tower. 
View  it  o'er  and  pace  it  round, 
Rampart,  turret,  battled  mound. 
Dare  no  more!  To  cross  the  gate 
Were  to  tamper  with  thy  fate; 
Strength  and  fortitude  were  vain, 
View  it  o'er  —  and  turn  again.' 

XVII 

'That  would  I,*  said  the  warrior  bold, 
'If  that  my  frame  were  bent  and  old. 
And  my  thin  blood  dropped  slow  and  cold 

As  icicle  in  thaw ; 
But  while  my  heart  can  feel  it  dance 
Blithe  as  the  sparkling  wine  of  France, 
And  this  good  arm  wields  sword  or  lance, 

I  mock  these  words  of  awe ! ' 
He  said ;  the  wicket  felt  the  sway 
Of  his  strong  hand  and  straight  gave  way, 
And  with  rude  crash  and  jarring  bray 

The  rusty  bolts  withdraw; 
But  o'er  the  threshold  as  he  strode 
And  forward  took  the  vaulted  road. 
An  unseen  arm  with  force  amain 

8S 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN, 

The  ponderous  gate  flung  close  again, 

And  rusted  bolt  and  bar 
Spontaneous  took  their  place  once  more 
While  the  deep  arch  with  sullen  roar 

Returned  their  surly  jar. 
/Now  closed  is  the  gin  and  the  prey  within. 

By  the  Rood  of  Lanercost! 
But  he  that  would  win  the  war-wolf's  skin" 

May  rue  him  of  his  boast.' 
Thus  muttering  on  the  warrior  went 
By  dubious  light  down  steep  descent. 

XVIII 

Unbarred,  unlocked,  unwatched,  a  port 
Led  to  the  castle's  outer  court: 
There  the  main  fortress,  broad  and  tall, 
Spread  its  long  range  of  bower  and  hall 

And  towers  of  varied  size, 
Wrought  with  each  ornament  extreme 
That  Gothic  art  in  wildest  dream 

Of  fancy  could  devise ; 
But  full  between  the  warrior's  way 
And  the  main  portal  arch  there  lay 

An  inner  moat; 

Nor  bridge  nor  boat 
Affords  De  Vaux  the  means  to  cross 
The  clear,  profound,  and  silent  fosse. 
86 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

His  arms  aside  in  haste  he  flings, 

Cuirass  of  steel  and  hauberk  rings, 

And  down  falls  helm  and  down  the  shield, 

Rough  with  the  dints  of  many  a  field. 

Fair  was  his  manly  form  and  fair 

His  keen  dark  eye  and  close  curled  hair, 

When  all  unarmed  save  that  the  brand 

Of  well-proved  metal  graced  his  hand, 

With  nought  to  fence  his  dauntless  breast 

But  the  close  gipon's  under-vest, 

Whose  sullied  buff  the  sable  stains 

Of  hauberk  and  of  mail  retains,  — 

Roland  de  Vaux  upon  the  brim 

Of  the  broad  moat  stood  prompt  to  swim. 


XIX 

Accoutred  thus  he  dared  the  tide, 
And  soon  he  reached  the  farther  side 

And  entered  soon  the  hold. 
And  paced  a  hall  whose  walls  so  wide 
Were  blazoned  all  with  feats  of  pride 

By  warriors  done  of  old. 
In  middle  lists  they  countered  here 

While  trumpets  seemed  to  blow; 
And  there  in  den  or  desert  drear 

They  quelled  gigantic  foe, 
87 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

Braved  the  fierce  griffon  in  his  ire, 
Or  faced  the  dragon's  breath  of  fire. 
Strange  in  their  arms  and  strange  in  face, 
Heroes  they  seemed  of  ancient  race. 
Whose  deeds  of  arms  and  race  and  name, 
Forgotten  long  by  later  fame, 

Were  here  depicted  to  appall 
Those  of  an  age  degenerate 
Whose  bold  intrusion  braved  their  fate 

In  this  enchanted  hall. 
For  some  short  space  the  venturous  knight 
With  these  high  marvels  fed  his  sight, 
Then  sought  the  chamber's  upper  end 
Where  three  broad  easy  steps  ascend 

To  an  arched  portal  door, 
In  whose  broad  folding  leaves  of  state 
Was  framed  a  wicket  window-grate ; 

And  ere  he  ventured  more. 
The  gallant  knight  took  earnest  view 
The  grated  wicket-window  through. 

XX 

O,  for  his  arms!  Of  martial  weed 
Had  never  mortal  knight  such  need !  — 
He  spied  a  stately  gallery ;  all 
Of  snow-white  marble  was  the  wall, 
The  vaulting,  and  the  floor; 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

And,  contrast  strange!  on  either  hand 
There  stood  arrayed  in  sable  band 

Four  maids  whom  Afric  bore ; 
And  each  a  Lybian  tiger  led, 
Held  by  as  bright  and  frail  a  thread 

As  Lucy's  golden  hair, 
For  the  leash  that  bound  these  monsters  dread 

Was  but  of  gossamer. 
Each  maiden's  short  barbaric  vest 
Left  all  unclosed  the  knee  and  breast 

And  limbs  of  shapely  jet; 
White  was  their  vest  and  turban's  fold, 
On  arms  and  ankles  rings  of  gold 

In  savage  pomp  were  set; 
A  quiver  on  their  shoulders  lay, 
And  in  their  hand  an  assagay. 
Such  and  so  silent  stood  they  there 

That  Roland  wellnigh  hoped 
He  saw  a  band  of  statues  rare, 
Stationed  the  gazer's  soul  to  scare; 

But  when  the  wicket  oped 
Each  grisly  beast  'gan  upward  draw, 
Rolled  his  grim  eye,  and  spread  his  claw, 
Scented  the  air,  and  licked  his  jaw; 
While  these  weird  maids  in  Moorish  tongue 
A  wild  and  dismal  warning  sung. 


89 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

XXI 

'Rash  adventurer,  bear  thee  back! 

Dread  the  spell  of  Dahomay! 
Fear  the  race  of  Zaharak; 

Daughters  of  the  burning  day! 

'When  the  whirlwind's  gusts  are  wheeling, 

Ours  it  is  the  dance  to  braid ; 
Zarah's  sands  in  pillars  reeling 

Join  the  measure  that  we  tread, 
When  the  Moon  has  donned  her  cloak 

And  the  stars  are  red  to  see. 
Shrill  when  pipes  the  sad  Siroc, 

Music  meet  for  such  as  we. 

'Where  the  shattered  columns  lie. 

Showing  Carthage  once  had  been, 
If  the  wandering  Santon's  eye 

Our  mysterious  rites  hath  seen,  — 
Oft  he  cons  the  prayer  of  death, 

To  the  nations  preaches  doom, 
"Azrael's  brand  hath  left  the  sheath, 

Moslems,  think  upon  the  tomb!" 

'Ours  the  scorpion,  ours  the  snake, 
Ours  the  hydra  of  the  fen, 
90 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

Ours  the  tiger  of  the  brake, 

All  that  plague  the  sons  of  men. 

Ours  the  tempest's  midnight  wrack, 
Pestilence  that  wastes  by  day  — 

Dread  the  race  of  Zaharak! 
Fear  the  spell  of  Dahomay!' 


XXII 

Uncouth  and  strange  the  accents  shrill 

Rung  those  vaulted  roofs  among, 
Long  it  was  ere  faint  and  still 

Died  the  far-resounding  song. 
While  yet  the  distant  echoes  roll, 
The  warrior  communed  with  his  soul. 
'When  first  I  took  this  venturous  quest, 
I  swore  upon  the  rood 
'  Neither  to  stop  nor  turn  nor  rest, 
For  evil  or  for  good. 
My  forward  path  too  well  I  ween 
Lies  yonder  fearful  ranks  between ; 
For  man  unarmed  't  is  bootless  hope 
With  tigers  and  with  fiends  to  cope  — 
Yet,  if  I  turn,  what  waits  me  there 
Save  famine  dire  and  fell  despair?  — 
Other  conclusion  let  me  try. 
Since,  choose  howe'er  I  list,  I  die. 
91 


THE  BRIDAL  OF   TRIERMAIN 

Forward  lies  faith  and  knightly  fame; 
Behind  are  perjury  and  shame. 
In  life  or  death  I  hold  my  word !  * 
With  that  he  drew  his  trusty  sword, 
Caught  down  a  banner  from  the  wall, 
And  entered  thus  the  fearful  hall. 


XXIII 

On  high  each  wayward  maiden  threw 
Her  swarthy  arm  with  wild  halloo! 
On  either  side  a  tiger  sprung  — 
Against  the  leftward  foe  he  flung 
The  ready  banner  to  engage 
With  tangling  folds  the  brutal  rage; 
The  right-hand  monster  in  mid  air 
He  struck  so  fiercely  and  so  fair 
Through  gullet  and  through  spinal  bone 
The  trenchant  blade  hath  sheerly  gone. 
His  grisly  brethren  ramped  and  yelled, 
But  the  slight  leash  their  rage  withheld, 
Whilst  'twixt  their  ranks  the  dangerous  road 
Firmly  though  swift  the  champion  strode. 
Safe  to  the  gallery's  bound  he  drew, 
Safe  passed  an  open  portal  through ; 
And  when  against  pursuit  he  flung 
The  gate,  judge  if  the  echoes  rung! 
92 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

Onward  his  daring  course  he  bore, 
While,  mixed  with  dying  growl  and  roar, 
Wild  jubilee  and  loud  hurra 
Pursued  him  on  his  venturous  way. 


XXIV 

'Hurra,  hurra!  Our  watch  is  done! 
We  hail  once  more  the  tropic  sun. 
Pallid  beams  of  northern  day, 
Farewell,  farewell!  Hurra,  hurra! 

*  Five  hundred  years  o'er  this  cold  glen 
Hath  the  pale  sun  come  round  agen; 
Foot  of  man  till  now  hath  ne'er 
Dared  to  cross  the  Hall  of  Fear. 

*  Warrior !  thou  whose  dauntless  heart 
Gives  us  from  our  ward  to  part, 

Be  as  strong  in  future  trial 
Where  resistance  is  denial. 

'Now  for  Afric's  glowing  sky, 
Zwenga  wide  and  Atlas  high, 
Zaharak  and  Dahomay !  — 
Mount  the  winds!   Hurra,   Hurra!' 


93 


THE   BRIDAL   OF   TRIERMAIN 

XXV 

The  wizard  song  at  distance  died, 

As  if  in  ether  borne  astray, 
While  through  waste  halls  and  chambers  wide 

The  knight  pursued  his  steady  way 
Till  to  a  lofty  dome  he  came 
That  flashed  with  such  a  brilliant  flame 
As  if  the  wealth  of  all  the  world 
Were  there  in  rich  confusion  hurled. 
For  here  the  gold  in  sandy  heaps 
With  duller  earth  incorporate  sleeps; 
Was  there  in  ingots  piled,  and  there 
Coined  badge  of  empery  it  bare ; 
Yonder,  huge  bars  of  silver  lay. 
Dimmed  by  the  diamond's  neighbouring  ray, 
Like  the  pale  moon  in  morning  day; 
And  in  the  midst  four  maidens  stand, 
The  daughters  of  some  distant  land. 
Their  hue  was  of  the  dark-red  dye 
That  fringes  oft  a  thunder  sky; 
Their  hands  palmetto  baskets  bare. 
And  cotton  fillets  bound  their  hair; 
Slim  was  their  form,  their  mien  was  shy, 
To  earth  they  bent  the  humbled  eye, 
Folded  their  arms,  and  suppliant  kneeled, 
And  thus  their  proffered  gifts  revealed. 
94 


THE    BRIDAL   OF   TRIERMAIN 

XXVI 

CHORUS 

'See  the  treasures  Merlin  piled, 
Portion  meet  for  Arthur's  child. 
Bathe  in  Wealth's  unbounded  stream, 
Wealth  that  Avarice  ne'er  could  dream!* 

FIRST  MAIDEN 

'See  these  clots  of  virgin  gold! 
Severed  from  the  sparry  mould, 
Nature's  mystic  alchemy 
In  the  mine  thus  bade  them  lie; 
And  their  orient  smile  can  win 
Kings  to  stoop  and  saints  to  sin.' 

SECOND  MAIDEN 

'See  these  pearls  that  long  have  slept; 
These  were  tears  by  Naiads  wept 
For  the  loss  of  Marine!. 
Tritons  in  the  silver  shell 
Treasured  them  till  hard  and  white 
As  the  teeth  of  Amphitrite.' 

THIRD   MAIDEN 

'Does  a  livelier  hue  delight? 
Here  are  rubies  blazing  bright, 
95 


THE   BRIDAL   OF  TRIERMAIN 

Here  the  emerald's  fairy  green, 
And  the  topaz  glows  between ; 
Here  their  varied  hues  unite 
In  the  changeful  chrysolite.' 

FOURTH  MAIDEN 

'Leave  these  gems  of  poorer  shine, 
Leave  them  all  and  look  on  mine ! 
While  their  glories  I  expand 
Shade  thine  eyebrows  with  thy  hand. 
Mid-day  sun  and  diamond's  blaze 
Blind  the  rash  beholder's  gaze.' 

CHORUS 

'Warrior,  seize  the  splendid  store; 
Would  't  were  all  our  mountains  bore! 
We  should  ne'er  in  future  story 
Read,  Peru,  thy  perished  glory!' 


XXVII 

Calmly  and  unconcerned  the  knight 
Waved  aside  the  treasures  bright  — 
'Gentle  Maidens,  rise,  I  pray! 
Bar  not  thus  my  destined  way. 
Let  these  boasted  brilliant  toys 
Braid  the  hair  of  girls  and  boys ! 
96 


THE   BRIDAL   OF  TRIERMAIN 

Bid  your  streams  of  gold  expand 
O'er  proud  London's  thirsty  land. 
De  Vaux  of  wealth  saw  never  need 
Save  to  purvey  him  arms  and  steed, 
And  all  the  ore  he  deigned  to  hoard 
Inlays  his  helm  and  hilts  his  sword.' 
Thus  gently  parting  from  their  hold, 
He  left  unmoved  the  dome  of  gold. 

XXVIII 

And  now  the  morning  sun  was  high, 
De  Vaux  was  weary,  faint,  and  dry ; 
When,  lo!  a  plashing  sound  he  hears, 
A  gladsome  signal  that  he  nears 

Some  frolic  water-run : 
And  soon  he  reached  a  courtyard  square 
Where,  dancing  in  the  sultry  air, 
Tossed  high  aloft  a  fountain  fair 

Was  sparkling  in  the  sun. 
On  right  and  left  a  fair  arcade 
In  long  perspective  view  displayed 
Alleys  and  bowers  for  sun  or  shade: 

But  full  in  front  a  door. 
Low-browed  and  dark,  seemed  as  it  led 
To  the  lone  dwelling  of  the  dead 

Whose  memory  was  no  more. 

60  97 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

XXIX 

Here  stopped  De  Vaux  an  instant's  space 
To  bathe  his  parched  lips  and  face, 

And  marked  with  well-pleased  eye, 
Refracted  on  the  fountain  stream, 
In  rainbow  hues  the  dazzling  beam 

Of  that  gay  summer  sky. 
His  senses  felt  a  mild  control. 
Like  that  which  lulls  the  weary  soul, 

From  contemplation  high 
Relaxing,  when  the  ear  receives 
The  music  that  the  greenwood  leaves 

Make  to  the  breezes'  sigh. 

XXX 

And  oft  in  such  a  dreamy  mood 

The  half -shut  eye  can  frame 
Fair  apparitions  in  the  wood. 
As  if  the  Nymphs  of  field  and  flood 

In  gay  procession  came. 
Are  these  of  such  fantastic  mould, 

Seen  distant  down  the  fair  arcade. 
These  maids  enlinked  in  sister-fold, 

Who,  late  at  bashful  distance  staid, 

Now  tripping  from  the  greenwood  shade, 
98 


THE   BRIDAL   OF  TRIERMAIN 

Nearer  the  musing  champion  draw, 
And  in  a  pause  of  seeming  awe 

Again  stand  doubtful  now?  — 
Ah,  that  sly  pause  of  witching  powers! 
That  seems  to  say,  'To  please  be  ours, 

Be  yours  to  tell  us  how.' 
Their  hue  was  of  the  golden  glow 
That  sons  of  Candahar  bestow. 
O'er  which  in  slight  suffusion  flows 
A  frequent  tinge  of  paly  rose ; 
Their  limbs  were  fashioned  fair  and  free 
In  nature's  justest  symmetry; 
And,  wreathed  with  flowers,  with  odors  graced. 
Their  raven  ringlets  reached  the  waist : 
In  eastern  pomp  its  gilding  pale 
The  henna  lent  each  shapely  nail, 
And  the  dark  sumah  gave  the  eye  . 
More  liquid  and  more  lustrous  dye. 
The  spotless  veil  of  misty  lawn. 
In  studied  disarrangement  drawn 

The  form  and  bosom  o'er. 
To  win  the  eye  or  tempt  the  touch, 
For  modesty  showed  all  too  much  — ■ 

Too  much  —  yet  promised  more. 


99 


,  THE  BRIDAL  OF   TRIERMAIN 

XXXI 

'Gentle  knight,  awhile  delay,* 
Thus  they  sung,  '  thy  toilsome  way, 
While  we  pay  the  duty  due 
To  our  Master  and  to  you. 
Over  Avarice,  over  Fear, 
Love  triumphant  led  thee  here; 
Warrior,  list  to  us,  for  we 
Are  slaves  to  Love,  are  friends  to  thee. 
Though  no  treasured  gems  have  we 
To  proffer  on  the  bended  knee. 
Though  we  boast  nor  arm  nor  heart 
For  the  assagay  or  dart. 
Swains  allow  each  simple  girl 
Ruby  lip  and  teeth  of  pearl ; 
Or,  if  dangers  more  you  prize, 
Flatterers  find  them  in  our  eyes. 

'Stay,  then,  gentle  warrior,  stay, 
Rest  till  evening  steal  on  day; 
Stay,  O,  stay !  —  in  yonder  bowers 
We  will  braid  thy  locks  with  flowers, 
Spread  the  feast  and  fill  the  wine, 
Charm  thy  ear  with  sounds  divine, 
Weave  our  dances  till  delight 
Yield  to  languor,  day  to  night. 

100 


THE   BRIDAL   OF  TRIERMAIN 

Then  shall  she  you  most  approve 
Sing  the  lays  that  best  you  love, 
Soft  thy  mossy  couch  shall  spread, 
Watch  thy  pillow,  prop  thy  head, 
Till  the  weary  night  be  o'er  — 
Gentle  warrior,  wouldst  thou  more? 
Wouldst  thou  more,  fair  warrior,  —  she 
Is  slave  to  Love  and  slave  to  thee.* 

XXXII 

O,  do  not  hold  it  for  a  crime 
In  the  bold  hero  of  my  rhyme, 

For  Stoic  look 

And  meet  rebuke 
He  lacked  the  heart  or  time; 
As  round  the  band  of  sirens  trip, 
He  kissed  one  damsel's  laughing  lip, 
And  pressed  another's  proffered  hand, 
Spoke  to  them  all  in  accents  bland, 
But  broke  their  magic  circle  through ; 
'Kind  maids,'  he  said,  'adieu,  adieu! 
My  fate,  my  fortune,  forward  lies.' 
He  said  and  vanished  from  their  eyes; 
But,  as  he  dared  that  darksome  way. 
Still  heard  behind  their  lovely  lay: 
'Fair  Flower  of  Courtesy,  depart! 
Go  where  the  feelings  of  the  heart 

lOI 


■Ti  mm  ^mms 


THE  BRIDAL   OF  TRIERMAIN 

With  the  warm  pulse  in  concord  move; 
Go  where  Virtue  sanctions  Love ! ' 


XXXIII 

Downward  De  Vaux  through  darksome  ways 

And  ruined  vaults  has  gone, 
Till  issue  from  their  wildered  maze 

Or  safe  retreat  seemed  none, 
And  e'en  the  dismal  path  he  strays 

Grew  worse  as  he  went  on. 
For  cheerful  sun,  for  living  air, 
Foul  vapours  rise  and  mine-fires  glare, 
Whose  fearful  light  the  dangers  showed 
That  dogged  him  on  that  dreadful  road. 
Deep  pits  and  lakes  of  waters  dun 
They  showed,  but  showed  not  how  to  shun. 
These  scenes  of  desolate  despair. 
These  smothering  clouds  of  poisoned  air, 
How  gladly  had  De  Vaux  exchanged. 
Though  't  were  to  face  yon  tigers  ranged ! 

Nay,  sooth ful  bards  have  said, 
So  perilous  his  state  seemed  now 
He  wished  him  under  arbour  bough 

With  Asia's  willing  maid. 
When,  joyful  sound !  at  distance  near 
A  trumpet  flourished  loud  and  clear, 

I02 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

And  as  it  ceased  a  lofty  lay 

Seemed  thus  to  chide  his  lagging  way. 

XXXIV 

'Son  of  Honour,  theme  of  story, 
Think  on  the  reward  before  ye! 
Danger,  darkness,  toil  despise; 
'T  is  Ambition  bids  thee  rise. 

*  He  that  would  her  heights  ascend, 
Many  a  weary  step  must  wend ; 
Hand  and  foot  and  knee  he  tries; 
Thus  Ambition's  minions  rise. 

'Lag  not  now,  though  rough  the  way, 
Fortune's  mood  brooks  no  delay; 
Grasp  the  boon  that's  spread  before  ye, 
Monarch's  power  and  Conqueror's  glory!' 

It  ceased.  Advancing  on  the  sound, 
A  steep  ascent  the  wanderer  found, 

And  then  a  turret  stair: 
Nor  climbed  he  far  its  steepy  round 

Till  fresher  blew  the  air. 
And  next  a  welcome  glimpse  was  given 
That  cheered  him  with  the  light  of  heaven. 

At  length  his  toil  had  won 
103 


THE   BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 

A  lofty  hall  with  trophies  dressed, 
Where  as  to  greet  imperial  guest 
Four  maidens  stood  whose  crimson  vest 
Was  bound  with  golden  zone. 

XXXV 

Of  Europe  seemed  the  damsels  all ; 
The  first  a  nymph  of  lively  Gaul 
Whose  easy  step  and  laughing  eye 
Her  borrowed  air  of  awe  belie; 

The  next  a  maid  of  Spain, 
Dark-eyed,  dark-haired,  sedate  yet  bold; 
White  ivory  skin  and  tress  of  gold 
Her  shy  and  bashful  comrade  told 

For  daughter  of  Almaine. 
These  maidens  bore  a  royal  robe, 
With  crown,  with  sceptre,  and  with  globe, 

Emblems  of  empery ; 
The  fourth  a  space  behind  them  stood. 
And  leant  upon  a  harp  in  mood 

Of  minstrel  ecstasy. 
Of  merry  England  she,  in  dress 
Like  ancient  British  Druidess, 
Her  hair  an  azure  fillet  bound. 
Her  graceful  vesture  swept  the  ground. 

And  in  her  hand  displayed 
A  crown  did  that  fourth  maiden  hold, 
104 


THE   BRIDAL    OF  TRIERMAIN 

But  unadorned  with  gems  and  gold, 
Of  glossy  laurel  made. 

XXXVI 

At  once  to  brave  De  Vaux  knelt  down 

These  foremost  maidens  three, 
And  profTered  sceptre,  robe,  and  crown, 

Liegedom  and  seignorie 
O'er  many  a  region  wide  and  fair, 
Destined,  they  said,  for  Arthur's  heir; 

But  homage  would  he  none:  — 
'Rather,'  he  said,  'De  Vaux  would  ride, 
A  warden  of  the  Border-side 
In  plate  and  mail  than,  robed  in  pride, 

A  monarch's  empire  own; 
Rather,  far  rather,  would  he  be 
A  free-born  knight  of  England  free 

Than  sit  on  despot's  throne.' 
So  passed  he  on,  when  that  fourth  maid, 

As  starting  from  a  trance, 
Upon  the  harp  her  finger  laid ; 
Her  magic  touch  the  chords  obeyed, 

Their  soul  awaked  at  once ! 

SONG   OF  THE  FOURTH   MAIDEN 

'Quake  to  your  foundations  deep, 
Stately  towers,  and  bannered  keep, 
los 


THE  BRIDAL  OF   TRIERMAIN 

Bid  your  vaulted  echoes  moan, 
As  the  dreaded  step  they  own. 

'Fiends  that  wait  on  Merlin's  spell, 
Hear  the  foot-fall !  mark  it  well ! 
Spread  your  dusky  wings  abroad, 
Boune  ye  for  your  homeward  road ! 

*It  is  His,  the  first  who  e'er 
Dared  the  dismal  Hall  of  Fear; 
His,  who  hath  the  snares  defied 
Spread  by  Pleasure,  Wealth,  and  Pride. 

*  Quake  to  your  foundations  deep, 
Bastion  huge,  and  turret  steep! 
Tremble,  keep!  and  totter,  tower! 
This  is  Gyneth's  waking  hour.' 


XXXVII 

Thus  while  she  sung  the  venturous  knight 
Has  reached  a  bower  where  milder  light 

Through  crimson  curtains  fell; 
Such  softened  shade  the  hill  receives. 
Her  purple  veil  when  twilight  leaves 

Upon  its  western  swell. 
That  bower,  the  gazer  to  bewitch, 
io6 


THE   BRIDAL   OF  TRIERMAIN 

Had  wondrous  store  of  rare  and  rich 

As  e'er  was  seen  with  eye; 
For  there  by  magic  skill,  iwis, 
Form  of  each  thing  that  living  is 

Was  limned  in  proper  dye. 
All  seemed  to  sleep  —  the  timid  hare 
On  form,  the  stag  upon  his  lair, 
The  eagle  in  her  eyrie  fair 

Between  the  earth  and  sky. 
But  what  of  pictured  rich  and  rare 
Could  win  De  Vaux's  eye-glance,  where, 
Deep  slumbering  in  the  fatal  chair, 

He  saw  King  Arthur's  child ! 
Doubt  and  anger  and  dismay 
From  her  brow  had  passed  away, 
Forgot  was  that  fell  tourney-day. 

For  as  she  slept  she  smiled : 
It  seemed  that  the  repentant  Seer 
Her  sleep  of  many  a  hundred  year 

With  gentle  dreams  beguiled. 

XXXVIII 

That  form  of  maiden  loveliness, 

'Twixt  childhood  and  'twixt  youth, 
That  ivory  chair,  that  sylvan  dress, 
The  arms  and  ankles  bare,  express 
Of  Lyulph's  tale  the  truth. 
107 


THE   BRIDAL  OF   TRIERMAIN 

Still  upon  her  garment's  hem 
Vanoc's  blood  made  purple  gem, 
And  the  warder  of  command 
Cumbered  still  her  sleeping  hand ; 
Still  her  dark  locks  dishevelled  flow 
From  net  of  pearl  o'er  breast  of  snow; 
And  so  fair  the  slumberer  seems 
That  De  Vaux  impeached  his  dreams, 
Vapid  all  and  void  of  might, 
Hiding  half  her  charms  from  sight. 
Motionless  awhile  he  stands, 
Folds  his  arms  and  clasps  his  hands, 
Trembling  in  his  fitful  joy. 
Doubtful  how  he  should  destroy 

Long-enduring  spell ; 
Doubtful  too,  when  slowly  rise 
Dark-fringed  Hds  of  Gyneth's  eyes, 

What  these  eyes  shall  tell.  — 
'Saint  George!  Saint  Mary!  can  it  be 
That  they  will  kindly  look  on  me  I ' 

XXXIX 

Gently,  lo !  the  warrior  kneels, 
Soft  that  lovely  hand  he  steals, 
Soft  to  kiss  and  soft  to  clasp  — 
But  the  warder  leaves  her  grasp; 
Lightning  flashes,  rolls  the  thunder! 
1 08 


THE   BRIDAL   OF   TRIERMAIN 

Gyneth  startles  from  her  sleep, 
Totters  tower,  and  trembles  keep, 

Burst  the  castle-walls  asunder! 
Fierce  and  frequent  were  the  shocks,  — 

Melt  the  magic  halls  away;  — 
But  beneath  their  mystic  rocks, 
In  the  arms  of  bold  De  Vaux 

Safe  the  princess  lay; 
Safe  and  free  from  magic  power, 
Blushing  like  the  rose's  flower 

Opening  to  the  day ; 
And  round  the  champion's  brows  were  bound 
The  crown  that  Druidess  had  wound 

Of  the  green  laurel-bay. 
And  this  was  what  remained  of  all 
The  wealth  of  each  enchanted  hall, 

The  Garland  and  the  Dame: 
But  where  should  warrior  seek  the  meed 
Due  to  high  worth  for  daring  deed 

Except  from  Love  and  Fame  ! 


CONCLUSION 

I 

My  Lucy,  when  the  maid  is  won 

The  minstrel's  task,  thou  know'st,  is  done; 

And  to  require  of  bard 
That  to  his  dregs  the  tale  should  run 

Were  ordinance  too  hard. 
Our  lovers,  briefly  be  it  said, 
Wedded  as  lovers  wont  to  wed, 

When  tale  or  play  is  o'er; 
Lived  long  and  blest,  loved  fond  and  true, 
And  saw  a  numerous  race  renew 

The  honours  that  they  bore. 
Know  too  that  when  a  pilgrim  strays 
In  morning  mist  or  evening  maze 

Along  the  mountain  lone, 
That  fairy  fortress  often  mocks 
His  gaze  upon  the  castled  rocks 

Of  the  Valley  of  Saint  John; 
But  never  man  since  brave  De  Vaux 

The  charmM  portal  won. 
'T  is  now  a  vain  illusive  show 
That  melts  whene'er  the  sunbeams  glow, 

Or  the  fresh  breeze  hath  blown. 
no 


THE  BRIDAL   OF   TRIERMAIN 


II 

But  see,  my  love,  where  far  below 
Our  lingering  wheels  are  moving  slow, 

The  whiles,  up-gazing  still. 
Our  menials  eye  our  steepy  way, 
Marvelling  perchance  what  whim  can  stay 
Our  steps  when  eve  is  sinking  gray 

On  this  gigantic  hill. 
So  think  the  vulgar  —  Life  and  time 
Ring  all  their  joys  in  one  dull  chime 

Of  luxury  and  ease ; 
And  O,  beside  these  simple  knaves, 
How  many  better  born  are  slaves 

To  such  coarse  joys  as  these, 
Dead  to  the  nobler  sense  that  glows 
When  nature's  grander  scenes  unclose! 
But,  Lucy,  we  will  love  them  yet, 
The  mountain's  misty  coronet. 

The  greenwood  and  the  wold ; 
And  love  the  more  that  of  their  maze 
Adventure  high  of  other  days 

By  ancient  bards  is  told, 
Bringing  perchance,  like  my  poor  tale, 
Some  moral  truth  in  fiction's  veil: 
Nor  love  them  less  that  o'er  the  hill 
III 


THE   BRIDAL  OF   TRIERMAIN 

The  evening  breeze  as  now  comes  chill ; 

My  love  shall  wrap  her  warm, 
And,  fearless  of  the  slippery  way 
^ While  safe  she  trips  the  heathy  brae. 

Shall  hang  on  Arthur's  arm. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS 


THE  DYING  BARD 

Aer  —  Dafydz  Gangwen 

1806 

The  Welsh  tradition  bears  that  a  Bard,  on  his  death-bed,  demanded  his  harp, 
and  played  the  air  to  which  these  verses  are  adapted,  requesting  that  it  might 
be  performed  at  his  funeral. 

DiNAS  Emlinn,  lament;  for  the  moment  is  nigh, 
When  mute  in  the  woodlands  thine  echoes  shall  die: 
No  more  by  sweet  Teivi  Cadwallon  shall  rave, 
And  mix  his  wild  notes  with  the  wild  dashing  wave. 

In  spring  and  in  autumn  thy  glories  of  shade 
Unhonoured  shall  flourish,  unhonoured  shall  fade; 
For  soon  shall  be  lifeless  the  eye  and  the  tongue 
That  viewed  them  with  rapture,  with  rapture  that  sung. 

Thy  sons,  Dinas  Emlinn,  may  march  in  their  pride, 
And  chase  the  proud  Saxon  from  Prestatyn's  side ; 
But  where  is  the  harp  shall  give  life  to  their  name? 
And  where  is  the  bard  shall  give  heroes  their  fame? 

And  O,  Dinas  Emlinn!  thy  daughters  so  fair, 
Who  heave  the  white  bosom  and  wave  the  dark  hair; 
What  tuneful  enthusiast  shall  worship  their  eye, 
When  half  of  their  charms  with  Cadwallon  shall  die? 

115 


THE  DYING  BARD 

Then  adieu,  silver  Teivi!  I  quit  thy  loved  seen; 
To  join  the  dim  choir  of  the  bards  who  have  be 
With  Lewarch,  and  Meilor,  and  Merlin  the  Old, 
And  safe  Taliessin,  high  harping  to  hold. 

And  adieu,  Dinas  Emlinn!  still  green  be  thy  shades, 
Unconquered  thy  warriors  and  matchless  thy  maids! 
And  thou  whose  faint  warblings  my  weakness  can  tell, 
Farewell,  my  loved  harp!  my  last  treasure,  farewell! 


THE  NORMAN   HORSE-SHOE 
1806 

The  Welsh,  inhabiting  a  mountainous  country,  and  possessing  only  an  in- 
ferior breed  of  horses,  were  usually  unable  to  encounter  the  shock  of  the  Anglo- 
Norman  cavalry.  Occasionally,  however,  they  were  successful  in  repelling  the 
invaders;  and  the  following  verses  are  supposed  to  celebrate  a  defeat  of  Clare, 
Earl  of  Striguil  and  Pembroke,  and  of  Neville,  Baron  of  Chepstow,  Lords- 
Marchers  of  Monmouthshire.  Rymny  is  a  stream  which  divides  the  counties  of 
Monmouth  and  Glamorgan;  Caerphili,  the  scene  of  the  supposed  battle,  is  a 
vale  upon  its  banks,  dignified  by  the  ruins  of  a  very  ancient  castle. 

Red  glows  the  forge  in  Striguil's  bounds, 
And  hammers  din,  and  anvil  sounds, 
And  armourers  with  iron  toil 
Barb  many  a  steed  for  battle's  broil. 
Foul  fall  the  hand  which  bends  the  steel 
Around  the  courser's  thundering  heel, 
That  e'er  shall  dint  a  sable  wound 
On  fair  Glamorgan's  velvet  ground ! 

From  Chepstow's  towers  ere  dawn  of  morn 
Was  heard  afar  the  bugle-horn, 
And  forth  in  banded  pomp  and  pride 
Stout  Clare  and  fiery  Neville  ride. 
They  swore  their  banners  broad  should  gleam 
In  crimson  light  on  Rymny's  stream ; 
They  vowed  Caerphili's  sod  should  feel 
The  Norman  charger's  spurning  heel. 
117 


THE  NORMAN  HORSE-SHOE 

And  sooth  they  swore  —  the  sun  arose, 
And  Rymny's  wave  with  crimson  glows; 
For  Clare's  red  banner,  floating  wide. 
Rolled  down  the  stream  to  Severn's  tide ! 
And  sooth  they  vowed  —  the  trampled  green 
Showed  where  hot  Neville's  charge  had  been: 
In  every  sable  hoof-tramp  stood 
A  Norman  horseman's  curdling  blood! 

Old  Chepstow's  brides  may  curse  the  toil 
That  armed  stout  Clare  for  Cambrian  broil ; 
Their  orphans  long  the  art  may  rue, 
For  Neville's  war-horse  forged  the  shoe. 
No  more  the  stamp  of  armM  steed 
Shall  dint  Glamorgan's  velvet  mead ; 
Nor  trace  be  there  in  early  spring 
Save  of  the  Fairies'  emerald  ring. 


THE  MAID  OF  TORO 

1806 

0,  LOW  shone  the  sun  on  the  fair  lake  of  Toro, 

And  weak  were  the  whispers  that  waved  the  dark 
wood, 
All  as  a  fair  maiden,  bewildered  in  sorrow, 

Sorely  sighed  to  the  breezes  and  wept  to  the  flood. 
*0  saints,  from  the  mansions  of  bliss  lowly  bending! 

Sweet  Virgin,  who  hearest  the  suppliant's  cry! 
Now  grant  my  petition  in  anguish  ascending, 

My  Henry  restore  or  let  Eleanor  die  I ' 

All  distant  and  faint  were  the  sounds  of  the  battle, 

With  the  breezes  they  rise,  with  the  breezes  they  fail, 
Till  the  shout  and  the  groan  and  the  conflict's  dread 
rattle, 

And  the  chase's  wild  clamour,  came  loading  the  gale. 
Breathless  she  gazed  on  the  woodlands  so  dreary; 

Slowly  approaching  a  warrior  was  seen ; 
Life's  ebbing  tide  marked  his  footsteps  so  weary . 

Cleft  was  his  helmet  and  woe  was  his  mien.  . 

'0,  save  thee,  fair  maid,  for  our  armies  are  flying! 
O,  save  thee,  fair  maid,  for  thy  guardian  is  low! 
119 


THE  MAID  OF  TORO 

Deadly  cold  on  yon  heath  thy  brave  Henry  is  lying, 
And  fast  through  the  woodland  approaches  the  foe.* 

Scarce  could  he  falter  the  tidings  of  sorrow, 

And  scarce  could  she  hear  them,  benumbed  with  de- 
spair : 

And  when  the  sun  sunk  on  the  sweet  lake  of  Tore, 
Forever  he  set  to  the  Brave  and  the  Fair. 


THE  PALMER 

1806 

*0  OPEN  the  door,  some  pity  to  show, 

Keen  blows  the  northern  wind! 
The  glen  is  white  with  the  drifted  snow/ 
And  the  path  is  hard  to  find. 

*No  outlaw  seeks  your  castle  gate, 
From  chasing  the  king's  deer, 

Though  even  an  outlaw's  wretched  state] 
Might  claim  compassion  here. 

*A  weary  Palmer,  worn  and  weak, 

I  wander  for  my  sin; 
O,  open,  for  Our  Lady's  sake ! ) 
A  pilgrim's  blessing  win! 

'*  I  '11  give  you  pardons  from  the  Pope, 
And  reliques  from  o'er  the  sea,  — ■ 
Or  if  for  these  you  will  not  ope, 
Yet  open  for  charity. 

'The  hare  is  crouching  in  her  form, 
The  hart  beside  the  hind ; 
121 


THE  PALMER 

An  agM  man  amid  the  storm, 
No  shelter  can  I  find. 

'You  hear  the  Ettrick's  sullen  roar, 

Dark,  deep,  and  strong  is  he, 
And  I  must  ford  the  Ettrick  o'er, 
Unless  you  pity  me. 

'The  iron  gate  is  bolted  hard, 

At  which  I  knock  in  vain; 
The  owner's  heart  is  closer  barred, 

Who  hears  me  thus  complain. 

'Farewell,  farewell!  and  Mary  grant. 

When  old  and  frail  you  be, 
You  never  may  the  shelter  want 

That's  now  denied  to  me.* 

The  ranger  on  his  couch  lay  warm, 
And  heard  him  plead  in  vain; 

But  oft  amid  December's  storm 
He'll  hear  that  voice  again: 

For  lo !  when  through  the  vapours  dank 
Morn  shone  on  Ettrick  fair, 

A  corpse  amid  the  alders  rank. 
The  Palmer  weltered  there. 


THE  MAID  OF  NEIDPATH 
1806 

There  is  a  tradition  in  Tweeddale,  that,  when  Neidpath  Castle,  near  Peebles, 
was  inhabited  by  the  Earls  of  March,  a  mutual  passion  subsisted  between  a 
daughter  of  that  noble  family  and  a  son  of  the  Laird  of  Tushielaw,  in  Ettrick 
Forest.  As  the  alliance  was  thought  unsuitable  by  her  parents,  the  young  man 
went  abroad.  During  his  absence  the  lady  fell  into  a  consumption;  and  at 
length,  as  the  only  means  of  saving  her  life,  her  father  consented  that  her  lover 
should  be  recalled.  On  the  day  when  he  was  expected  to  pass  through  Peebles, 
on  the  road  to  Tushielaw,  the  young  lady,  though  much  exhausted,  caused 
herself  to  be  carried  to  the  balcony  of  a  house  in  Peebles  belonging  to  the  fam- 
ily, that  she  might  see  him  as  he  rode  past.  Her  anxiety  and  eagerness  gave  such 
force  to  her  organs,  that  she  is  said  to  have  distinguished  his  horse's  footsteps 
at  an  incredible  distance.  But  Tushielaw,  unprepared  for  the  change  in  her 
appearance,  and  not  expecting  to  see  her  in  that  place,  rode  on  without  recog- 
nizing her,  or  even  slackening  his  pace.  The  lady  was  unable  to  support  the 
shock;  and,  after  a  short  struggle,  died  in  the  arms  of  her  attendants.  There  is 
an  incident  similar  to  this  traditional  tale  in  Count  Hamilton's  Fleur  d'i.pine. 

O,  LOVERS '  eyes  are  sharp  to  see, 

And  lovers'  ears  in  hearing; 
And  love  in  life's  extremity 

Can  lend  an  hour  of  cheering, 
Disease  had  been  in  Mary's  bower. 

And  slow  decay  from  mourning. 
Though  now  she  sits  on  Neidpath's  tower 

To  watch  her  love's  returning. 

All  sunk  and  dim  her  eyes  so  bright, 

Her  form  decayed  by  pining, 
Till  through  her  wasted  hand  at  night 

You  saw  the  taper  shining; 
123 


THE  MAID  OF  NEIDPATH 

By  fits,  a  sultry  hectic  hue 

Across  her  cheek  was  flying; 
By  fits,  so  ashy  pale  she  grew, 

Her  maidens  thought  her  dying. 

Yet  keenest  powers  to  see  and  hear 

Seemed  in  her  frame  residing; 
Before  the  watch-dog  pricked  his  ear, 

She  heard  her  lover's  riding; 
Ere  scarce  a  distant  form  was  kenned, 

She  knew,  and  waved  to  greet  him; 
And  o'er  the  battlement  did  bend, 

As  on  the  wing  to  meet  him. 

He  came  —  he  passed  —  an  heedless  gaze,^ 

As  o'er  some  stranger  glancing; 
Her  welcome,  spoke  in  faltering  phrase, 

Lost  in  his  courser's  prancing  — 
The  castle  arch,  whose  hollow  tone  , 

Returns  each  whisper  spoken, 
Could  scarcely  catch  the  feeble  moan 

Which  told  her  heart  was  broken. 


WANDERING  WILLIE 

1806 

All  joy  was  bereft  me  the  day  that  you  left  me, 
And  climbed  the  tall  vessel  to  sail  yon  wide  sea; 

0  weary  betide  it!  I  wandered  beside  it, 
And  banned  it  for  parting  my  Willie  and  me. 

Far  o'er  the  wave  hast  thou  followed  thy  fortune, 
Oft  fought  the  squadrons  of  France  and  of  Spain; 

Ae  kiss  of  welcome 's  worth  twenty  at  parting, 
Now  I  hae  gotten  my  Willie  again. 

When  the  sky  it  was  mirk,  and  the  winds  they  were 
wailing, 

I  sat  on  the  beach  wi'  the  tear  in  my  ee. 
And  thought  o*  the  bark  where  my  Willie  was  sailing, 

And  wished  that  the  tempest  could  a'  blaw  on  me. 

Now  that  thy  gallant  ship  rides  at  her  mooring, 

Now  that  my  wanderer 's  in  safety  at  hame. 
Music  to  me  were  the  wildest  winds'  roaring, 
That  e'er   o'er   Inch-Keith   drove   the   dark   ocean 
faem. 

125 


WANDERING  WILLIE 

When  the  lights  they  did  blaze,  and  the  guns  they  did 
rattle, 

And  blithe  was  each  heart  for  the  great  victory, 
In  secret  I  wept  for  the  dangers  of  battle. 

And  thy  glory  itself  was  scarce  comfort  to  me. 

But  now  shalt  thou  tell,  while  I  eagerly  listen, 
Of  each  bold  adventure  and  every  brave  scar ; 

And  trust  me,  I'll  smile,  though  my  een  they  may 
glisten, 
For  sweet  after  danger 's  the  tale  of  the  war. 

And  0,  how  we  doubt  when  there 's  distance  'tween  lov- 
ers, 
When  there 's  naething  to  speak  to  the  heart  thro'  the 
ee! 
How  often  the  kindest  and  warmest  prove  rovers, 
And  the  love  of  the  faithfullest  ebbs  like  the  sea! 

Till,  at  times  —  could  I  help  it?  —  I  pined  and  I  pon- 
dered 

If  love  could  change  notes  like  the  bird  on  the  tree  — 
Now  I  '11  ne'er  ask  if  thine  eyes  may  hae  wandered; 

Enough,  thy  leal  heart  has  been  constant  to  me. 

Welcome,  from  sweeping  o'er  sea  and  through  channel, 
Hardships  and  danger  despising  for  fame, 
126 


WANDERING  WILLIE 

Furnishing  story  for  glory's  bright  annal, 
Welcome,  my  wanderer,  to  Jeanie  and  hame! 

Enough  now  thy  story  in  annals  of  glory 

Has  humbled  the  pride  of  France,  Holland,  and  Spain; 
No  more  shalt  thou  grieve  me,  no  more  shalt  thou  leave 
me, 

I  never  will  part  with  my  Willie  again. 


HEALTH  TO  LORD  MELVILLE 

Air  — '  Carrickfergus' 
1806 

Since  here  we  are  set  in  array  round  the  table, 
Five  hundred  good  fellows  well  met  in  a  hall, 
Come  listen,  brave  boys,  and  I  '11  sing  as  I  'm  able, 
How  innocence  triumphed  and  pride  got  a  fall. 
But  push  round  the  claret  — 
Come,  stewards,  don't  spare  it  — 
With  rapture  you  '11  drink  to  the  toast  that  I  give ; 
Here,  boys. 
Off  with  it  merrily  — 
Melville  forever,  and  long  may  he  live! 

What  were  the  Whigs  doing,  when  boldly  pursuing, 

Pitt  banished  Rebellion,  gave  Treason  a  string; 
Why,  they  swore  on  their  honour,  for  Arthur  O'Connor, 
And  fought  hard  for  Despard  'gainst  country  and 
king. 
Well  then,  we  knew,  boys, 
Pitt  and  Melville  were  true  boys. 
And  the  tempest  was  raised  by  the  friends  of  Reform. 
Ah !  woe ! 

Weep  to  his  memory; 
Low  lies  the  pilot  that  weathered  the  storm! 

128 


HEALTH  TO  LORD   MELVILLE 

And  pray,  don't  you  mind  when  the  Blues  first  were 
raising, 
And  we  scarcely  could  think  the  house  safe  o'er  our 
heads? 
When  villains  and  coxcombs,  French  politics  praising, 
Drove  peace  from  our  tables  and   sleep  from  our 
beds? 
Our  hearts  they  grew  bolder 
When,  musket  on  shoulder, 
Stepped  forth  our  old  Statesmen  example  to  give. 
Come  boys,  never  fear, 
Drink  the  Blue  grenadier  — 
Here's  to  old  Harry,  and  long  may  he  live! 

They  would  turn  us  adrift,  though  rely,  sir,  upon  it. 

Our  own  faithful  chronicles  warrant  us  that 
The  free  mountaineer  and  his  bonny  blue  bonnet 
Have  oft  gone  as  far  as  the  regular's  hat. 
We  laugh  at  their  taunting. 
For  all  we  are  wanting 
Is  licence  our  life  for  our  country  to  give. 
Off  with  it  merrily  — 
Horse,  foot,  and  artillery, 
Each  loyal  Volunteer,  long  may  he  live! 

*T  is  not  us  alone,  boys  —  the  Army  and  Navy  \ 
Have  each  got  a  slap  'mid  their  politic  pranks; 
ao  129 


HEALTH  TO  LORD   MELVILLE 

Cornwallis  cashiered,  that  watched  winters  to  save  ye, 
And  the  Cape  called  a  bauble  unworthy  of  thanks. 
But  vain  is  their  taunt, 
No  soldier  shall  want 
The  thanks  that  his  country  to  valour  can  give : 
Come,  boys, 
Drink  it  off  merrily  — 
Sir  David  and  Popham,  and  long  may  they  live! 

And  then  our  revenue — Lord  knows  how  they  viewed  it, 

While  each  petty  statesman  talked  lofty  and  big; 
But   the   beer-tax  was  weak,   as    if  Whitbread   had 
brewed  it. 
And  the  pig-iron  duty  a  shame  to  a  pig. 
In  vain  is  their  vaunting, 
Too  surely  there 's  wanting 
What  judgment,  experience,  and  steadiness  give: 
Come,  boys, 
Drink  about  merrily  — 
Health  to  sage  Melville,  and  long  may  he  live! 

Our  King,  too — our  Princess — I  dare  not  say  more,  sir,  — 
May  Providence  watch  them  with  mercy  and  might! 
While  there's  one  Scottish  hand  that  can  wag  a  clay- 
more, sir. 
They  shall  ne'er  want  a  friend  to  stand  up  for  their 
right. 

130 


HEALTH   TO   LORD  MELVILLE 

Be  damned  he  that  dare  not,  — 
For  my  part,  I  '11  spare  not 
To  beauty  afflicted  a  tribute  to  give. 
Fill  it  up  steadily, 
Drink  it  off  readily  — 
Here's  to  the  Princess,  and  long  may  she  live! 

And  since  we  must  not  set  Auld  Reekie  in  glory, 

And  make  her  brown  visage  as  light  as  her  heart ; 
Till  each  man  illumine  his  own  upper  story, 
Nor  law-book  nor  lawyer  shall  force  us  to  part. 
In  Grenville  and  Spencer, 
And  some  few  good  men,  sir, 
High  talents  we  honour,  slight  difference  forgive; 
But  the  Brewer  we  '11  hoax, 
Tallyho  to  the  Fox, 
And  drink  Melville  forever,  as  long  as  we  live ! 


HUNTING  SONG 

1808 
Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay, 
On  the  mountain  dawns  the  day, 
All  the  jolly  chase  is  here. 
With  hawk  and  horse  and  hunting-spear! 
Hounds  are  in  their  couples  yelling, 
Hawks  are  whistling,  horns  are  knelling, 
Merrily,  merrily,  mingle  they, 
'Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay.* 

Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay, 

The  mist  has  left  the  mountain  grey, 

Springlets  in  the  dawn  are  steaming. 

Diamonds  on  the  brake  are  gleaming: 

And  foresters  have  busy  been 

To  track  the  buck  in  thicket  green; 

Now  we  come  to  chant  our  lay, 

'Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay.* 

Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay, 
To  the  green-wood  haste  away; 
We  can  show  you  where  he  lies, 
Fleet  of  foot  and  tall  of  size; 
132 


HUNTING  SONG 

We  can  show  the  marks  he  made, 
When  'gainst  the  oak  his  antlers  frayed ; 
You  shall  see  him  brought  to  bay, 
'Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay.' 

Louder,  louder  chant  the  lay, 
Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay! 
Tell  them  youth  and  mirth  and  glee 
Run  a  course  as  well  as  we ; 
Time,  stern  huntsman,  who  can  balk, 
Stanch  as  hound  and  fleet  as  hawk? 
Think  of  this  and  rise  with  day, 
Gentle  lords  and  ladies  gay.^ 


SONG 

1808 

O,  SAY  not,  my  love,  with  that  mortified  air. 
That  your  spring-time  of  pleasure  is  flown, 

Nor  bid  me  to  maids  that  are  younger  repair 
For  those  raptures  that  still  are  thine  own. 

Though  April  his  temples  may  wreathe  with  the  vine, 

Its  tendrils  in  infancy  curled, 
'T  is  the  ardour  of  August  matures  us  the  wine 

Whose  life-blood  enlivens  the  world. 

Though  thy  form  that  was  fashioned  as  light  as  a  fay's 
Has  assumed  a  proportion  more  round, 

And  thy  glance  that  was  bright  as  a  falcon's  at  gaze 
Looks  soberly  now  on  the  ground,  — 

Enough,  after  absence  to  meet  me  again 

Thy  steps  still  with  ecstasy  move; 
Enough,  that  those  dear  sober  glances  retain 

For  me  the  kind  language  of  love. 


134 


THE   RESOLVE 

WRITTEN  IN  IMITATION  OF  AN  OLD  ENGLISH  POEM,   I809 

My  way^vard  fate  I  needs  must  plain, 

Though  bootless  be  the  theme; 
I  loved  and  was  beloved  again, 

Yet  all  was  but  a  dream : 
For,  as  her  love  was  quickly  got, 

So  it  was  quickly  gone ; 
No  more  I  '11  bask  in  flame  so  hot, 

But  coldly  dwell  alone. 

Not  maid  more  bright  than  maid  was  e'er 

My  fancy  shall  beguile. 
By  flattering  word  or  feigned  tear. 

By  gesture,  look,  or  smile: 
No  more  I  '11  call  the  shaft  fair  shot, 

Till  it  has  fairly  flown, 
Nor  scorch  me  at  a  flame  so  hot  — 

I  '11  rather  freeze  alone. 

Each  ambushed  Cupid  I  '11  defy 

In  cheek  or  chin  or  brow. 
And  deem  the  glance  of  woman's  eye; 

As  weak  as  woman's  vow: 
135 


THE  RESOLVE 

I  '11  lightly  hold  the  lady's  heart, 

That  is  but  lightly  won ; 
I  '11  steel  my  breast  to  beauty's  art, 

And  learn  to  live  alone. 

The  flaunting  torch  soon  blazes  out, 

The  diamond's  ray  abides; 
The  flame  its  glory  hurls  about, 

The  gem  its  lustre  hides; 
Such  gem  I  fondly  deemed  was  mine. 

And  glowed  a  diamond  stone, 
But,  since  each  eye  may  see  it  shine, 

I  '11  darkling  dwell  alone. 

No  waking  dreams  shall  tinge  my  thought 

With  dyes  so  bright  and  vain, 
No  silken  net  so  slightly  wrought 

Shall  tangle  me  again : 
No  more  I  '11  pay  so  dear  for  wit, 

I  '11  live  upon  mine  own. 
Nor  shall  wild  passion  trouble  it,  — 

I  '11  rather  dwell  alone. 

And  thus  I  '11  hush  my  heart  to  rest,  — 

*Thy  loving  labour 's  lost; 
Thou  shalt  no  more  be  wildly  blest. 

To  be  so  strangely  crost: 
136 


THE   RESOLVE 

The  widowed  turtles  mateless  die, 

The  phcenix  is  but  one ; 
They  seek  no  loves  —  no  more  will  I  — 

I  '11  rather  dwell  alone.' 


EPITAPH 

DESIGNED  FOR  A  MONUMENT  IN    LICHFIELD  CATHEDRAL, 
AT  THE  BURIAL-PLACE  OF  THE  FAMILY  OF  MISS  SEWARD 

1809 

Amid  these  aisles  where  once  his  precepts  showed 

The  heavenward  pathway  which  in  Hfe  he  trode, 

This  simple  tablet  marks  a  Father's  bier, 

And  those  he  loved  in  life  in  death  are  near; 

For  him,  for  them,  a  Daughter  bade  it  rise. 

Memorial  of  domestic  charities. 

Still  wouldst  thou  know  why  o'er  the  marble  spread 

In  female  grace  the  willow  droops  her  head; 

Why  on  her  branches,  silent  and  unstrung, 

The  minstrel  harp  is  emblematic  hung; 

What  poet's  voice  is  smothered  here  in  dust 

Till  waked  to  join  the  chorus  of  the  just,  — 

Lo!  one  brief  line  an  answer  sad  supplies. 

Honoured,  beloved,  and  mourned,  here  Seward  lies! 

Her  worth,  her  warmth  of  heart,  let  friendship  say,  — 

Go  seek  her  genius  in  her  living  lay. 


'138 


PROLOGUE 

TO  MISS   BAILLIE's   PLAY   OF   'THE   FAMILY  LEGEND' 
1810 

'T  IS  sweet  to  hear  expiring  Summer's  sigh, 
Through  forests  tinged  with  russet,  wail  and  die; 
'T  is  sweet  and  sad  the  latest  notes  to  hear 
Of  distant  music,  dying  on  the  ear; 
But  far  more  sadly  sweet  on  foreign  strand 
We  list  the  legends  of  our  native  land, 
Linked  as  they  come  with  every  tender  tie, 
Memorials  dear  of  youth  and  infancy. 

Chief  thy  wild  tales,  romantic  Caledon, 
Wake  keen  remembrance  in  each  hardy  son. 
Whether  on  India's  burning  coasts  he  toil 
Or  till  Acadia's  winter-fettered  soil. 
He  hears  with  throbbing  heart  and  moistened  eyes, 
And,  as  he  hears,  what  dear  illusions  rise! 
It  opens  on  his  soul  his  native  dell. 
The  woods  wild  waving  and  the  water's  swell ; 
Tradition's  theme,  the  tower  that  threats  the  plain, 
The  mossy  cairn  that  hides  the  hero  slain ; 
The  cot  beneath  whose  simple  porch  were  told 
By  grey-haired  patriarch  the  tales  of  old, 

139 


. PROLOGUE 

The  infant  group  that  hushed  their  sports  the  while, 
And  the  dear  maid  who  Hstened  with  a  smile. 
The  wanderer,  while  the  vision  warms  his  brain, 
Is  denizen  of  Scotland  once  again. 

Are  such  keen  feelings  to  the  crowd  confined, 
And  sleep  they  in  the  poet's  gifted  mind? 
O  no!  For  she,  within  whose  mighty  page 
Each  tyrant  Passion  shows  his  woe  and  rage, 
Has  felt  the  wizard  influence  they  inspire, 
And  to  your  own  traditions  tuned  her  lyre. 
Yourselves  shall  judge  —  whoe'er  has  raised  the  sail 
By  Mull's  dark  coast  has  heard  this  evening's  tale. 
The  plaided  boatman,  resting  on  his  oar. 
Points  to  the  fatal  rock  amid  the  roar 
Of  whitening  waves,  and  tells  whate'er  to-night 
Our  humble  stage  shall  offer  to  your  sight ; 
Proudly  preferred  that  first  our  efforts  give 
Scenes  glowing  from  her  pen  to  breathe  and  live; 
More  proudly  yet,  should  Caledon  approve 
The  filial  token  of  a  daughter's  love. 


THE  POACHER 

1809 
Welcome,  grave  stranger,  to  our  green  retreats 
Where  health  with  exercise  and  freedom  meets! 
Thrice  welcome,  sage,  whose  philosophic  plan 
By  nature's  limits  metes  the  rights  of  man; 
Generous  as  he  who  now  for  freedom  bawls, 
Now  gives  full  value  for  true  Indian  shawls: 
O'er  court,  o'er  custom-house,  his  shoe  who  flings, 
Now  bilks  excisemen  and  now  bullies  kings. 
Like  his,  I  ween,  thy  comprehensive  mind  , 
Holds  laws  as  mouse-traps  baited  for  mankind: 
Thine  eye  applausive  each  sly  vermin  sees, 
That  balks  the  snare  yet  battens  on  the  cheese; 
Thine  ear  has  heard  with  scorn  instead  of  awe 
Our  buckskinned  justices  expound  the  law, 
Wire-draw  the  acts  that  fix  for  wires  the  pain. 
And  for  the  netted  partridge  noose  the  swain; 
And  thy  vindictive  arm  would  fain  have  broke 
The  last  light  fetter  of  the  feudal  yoke. 
To  give  the  denizens  of  wood  and  wild, 
Nature's  free  race,  to  each  her  free-born  child. 
Hence  hast  thou  marked  with  grief  fair  London's  race, 
Mocked  with  the  boon  of  one  poor  Easter  chase, 

141 


THE  POACHER 

And  longed  to  send  them  forth  as  free  as  when 

Poured  o'er  Chantilly  the  Parisian  train, 

When  musket,  pistol,  blunderbuss,  combined, 

And  scarce  the  field-pieces  were  left  behind ! 

A  squadron's  charge  each  leveret's  heart  dismayed, 

On  every  covey  fired  a  bold  brigade; 

La  Douce  Humanite  approved  the  sport, 

For  great  the  alarm  indeed,  yet  small  the  hurt; 

Shouts  patriotic  solemnized  the  day. 

And  Seine  re-echoed  Vive  la  Liberie  I 

But  mad  Ciioyen,  meek  Monsieur  again. 

With  some  few  added  links  resumes  his  chain. 

Then,  since  such  scenes  to  France  no  more  are  known, 

Come,  view  with  me  a  hero  of  thine  own. 

One  whose  free  actions  vindicate  the  cause 

Of  sylvan  liberty  o'er  feudal  laws. 

Seek  we  yon  glades  where  the  proud  oak  o'ertops 
Wide-waving  seas  of  birch  and  hazel  copse. 
Leaving  between  deserted  isles  of  land 
Where  stunted  heath  is  patched  with  ruddy  sand. 
And  lonely  on  the  waste  the  yew  is  seen. 
Or  straggling  hollies  spread  a  brighter  green. 
Here,  little  worn  and  winding  dark  and  steep, 
Our  scarce-marked  path  descends  yon  dingle  deep: 
Follow  —  but  heedful,  cautious  of  a  trip  — 
In  earthly  mire  philosophy  may  slip. 

142 


THE  POACHER 

Step  slow  and  wary  o'er  that  swampy  stream, 

Till,  guided  by  the  charcoal's  smothering  steam. 

We  reach  the  frail  yet  barricaded  door 

Of  hovel  formed  for  poorest  of  the  poor; 

No  hearth  the  fire,  no  vent  the  smoke  receives, 

The  walls  are  wattles  and  the  covering  leaves; 

For,  if  such  hut,  our  forest  statutes  say, 

Rise  in  the  progress  of  one  night  and  day  — 

Though  placed  where  still  the  Conqueror's  bests  o'er- 

awe, 
And  his  son's  stirrup  shines  the  badge  of  law  — 
The  builder  claims  the  unenviable  boon, 
To  tenant  dwelling,  framed  as  slight  and  soon 
As  wigwam  wild  that  shrouds  the  native  frore 
On  the  bleak  coast  of  frost-barred  Labrador.^ 

Approach  and  through  the  unlatticed  window  peep  — 
Nay,  shrink  not  back,  the  inmate  is  asleep; 
Sunk  mid  yon  sordid  blankets  till  the  sun 
Stoop  to  the  west,  the  plunderer's  toils  are  done. 
Loaded  and  primed  and  prompt  for  desperate  hand, 
Rifle  and  fowling-piece  beside  him  stand ; 
While  round  the  hut  are  in  disorder  laid 
The  tools  and  booty  of  his  lawless  trade; 
For  force  or  fraud,  resistance  or  escape. 
The  crow,  the  saw,  the  bludgeon,  and  the  crape. 

»  See  Note  i6. 


THE   POACHER 

His  pilfered  powder  in  yon  nook  he  hoards, 
And  the  filched  lead  the  church's  roof  affords  — 
Hence  shall  the  rector's  congregation  fret, 
That  while  his  sermon's  dry  his  walls  are  wet. 
The  fish-spear  barbed,  the  sweeping  net  are  there, 
Doe-hides,  and  pheasant  plumes,  and  skins  of  hare. 
Cordage  for  toils  and  wiring  for  the  snare. 
Bartered  for  game  from  chase  or  warren  won, 
Yon  cask  holds  moonlight,  run  when  moori  was  none; 
And  late-snatched  spoils  lie  stowed  in  hutch  apart 
To  wait  the  associate  higgler's  evening  cart. 

Look  on  his  pallet  foul  and  mark  his  rest: 
What  scenes  perturbed  are  acting  in  his  breast! 
His  sable  brow  is  wet  and  wrung  with  pain, 
And  his  dilated  nostril  toils  in  vain ; 
For  short  and  scant  the  breath  each  effort  draws, 
And  'twixt  each  effort  Nature  claims  a  pause. 
Beyond  the  loose  and  sable  neckcloth  stretched, 
His  sinewy  throat  seems  by  convulsion  twitched, 
While  the  tongue  falters,  as  to  utterance  loath. 
Sounds   of   dire    import  —  watchword,    threat,   and 

oath. 
Though,  stupefied  by  toil  and  drugged  with  gin, 
The  body  sleep,  the  restless  guest  within 
Now  plies  on  wood  and  wold  his  lawless  trade. 
Now  in  the  fangs  of  justice  wakes  dismayed.  -^ 

144 


THE   POACHER 

'Was^that  wild  start  of  terror  and  despair, 
Those  bursting  eyeballs  and  that  wildered  air, 
Signs  of  compunction  for  a  murdered  hare? 
Do  the  locks  bristle  and  the  eyebrows  arch 
For  grouse  or  partridge  massacred  in  March?' 

No,  scoffer,  no!  Attend,  and  mark  with  awe, 
There  is  no  wicket  in  the  gate  of  law ! 
He  that  would  e'er  so  lightly  set  ajar 
That  awful  portal  must  undo  each  bar: 
Tempting  occasion,  habit,  passion,  pride, 
Will  join  to  storm  the  breach  and  force  the  barrier 
wide. 

That  ruffian,  whom  true  men  avoid  and  dread, 
Whom  bruisers,  poachers,  smugglers,  call  Black  Ned, 
Was  Edward  Mansell  once ;  —  the  lightest  heart 
That  ever  played  on  holiday  his  part! 
The  leader  he  in  every  Christmas  game, 
The  harvest-feast  grew  blither  when  he  came, 
And  liveliest  on  the  chords  the  bow  did  glance 
When  Edward  named  the  tune  and  led  the  dance. 
Kind  was  his  heart,  his  passions  quick  and  strong, 
Hearty  his  laugh,  and  jovial  was  his  song; 
And  if  he  loved  a  gun,  his  father  swore, 
'  'T  was  but  a  trick  of  youth  would  soon  be  o'er, 
Himself  had  done  the  same  some  thirty  years  before.* 
fio  145 


THE  POACHER 

But  he  whose  humours  spurn  law's  awful  yoke 
Must    herd    with   those    by    whom    law's    bonds   are 

broke ; 
The  common  dread  of  justice  soon  allies 
The  clown  who  robs  the  warren  or  excise 
With  sterner  felons  trained  to  act  more  dread, 
Even  with  the  wretch  by  whom  his  fellow  bled. 
Then,  as  in  plagues  the  foul  contagions  pass, 
Leavening  and  festering  the  corrupted  mass, 
Guilt  leagues  with  guilt  while  mutual  motives  draw, 
Their  hope  impunity,  their  fear  the  law; 
Their  foes,  their  friends,  their  rendezvous  the  same, 
Till  the  revenue  balked  or  pilfered  game 
Flesh  the  young  culprit,  and  example  leads 
To  darker  villany  and  direr  deeds. 

Wild  howled  the  wind  the  forest  glades  along, 
And  oft  the  owl  renewed  her  dismal  song; 
Around  the  spot  where  erst  he  felt  the  wound. 
Red  William's  spectre  walked  his  midnight  round. 
When  o'er  the  swamp  he  cast  his  blighting  look. 
From  the  green  marshes  of  the  stagnant  brook 
The  bittern's  sullen  shout  the  sedges  shook! 
The  waning  moon  with  storm-presaging  gleam 
Now  gave  and  now  withheld  her  doubtful  beam ; 
The  old  Oak  stooped  his  arms,  then  flung  them  high, 
Bellowing  and  groaning  to  the  troubled  sky. 

146 


TPIE   POACHER 

*T  was  then  that,  couched  amid  the  brushwood  sere, 
In  Malwood-walk  young  Mansell  watched  the  deer: 
The  fattest  buck  received  his  deadly  shot  — 
The  watchful  keeper  heard  and  sought  the  spot. 
Stout  were  their  hearts,  and  stubborn  was  their  strife; 
O'erpowered  at  length  the  Outlaw  drew  his  knife. 
Next  morn  a  corpse  was  found  upon  the  fell  — 
The  rest  his  waking  agony  may  tell! 


L    'i 


THE  BOLD   DRAGOON 

OR,   THE  PLAIN   OF  B  ADA  J  OS 
I8l2 

'T  WAS  a  Mar^chal  of  France,  and  he  fain  would  hon- 
our gain, 
And  he  longed  to  take  a  passing  glance  at  Portugal  from 
Spain ; 
With  his  flying  guns  this  gallant  gay, 
And  boasted  corps  d'arm6e  — 
O,  he  feared  not  our  dragoons  with  their  long  swords 
boldly  riding, 
Whack,  fal  de  ral,  etc 

To  Campo  Mayor  come,  he  had  quietly  sat  down, 
Just  a  fricassee  to  pick  while  his  soldiers  sacked  the 
town, 
When,  't  was  peste!  morbleu!  mon  G6n6ral, 
Hear  the  English  bugle-call! 
And  behold  the  light  dragoons  with  their  long  swords 
boldly  riding, 
Whack,  fal  de  ral,  etc. 

Right  about  went  horse  and  foot,  artillery  and  all. 
And,  as  the  devil  leaves  a  house,  they  tumbled  through 
the  wall ;  ^ 

»  See  Note  17. 
148 


THE  BOLD  DRAGOON 

They  took  no  time  to  seek  the  door, 
But,  best  foot  set  before  — 
O,  they  ran  from  our  dragoons  with  their  long  swords 
boldly  riding, 
Whack,  fal  de  ral,  etc. 


Those  valiant  men  of  France  they  had  scarcely  fled  a 

mile, 
When  on  their  flank  there  soused  at  once  the  British 
rank  and  file; 
For  Long,  De  Grey,  and  Otway  then 
Ne'er  minded  one  to  ten. 
But  came  on  like  light  dragoons  with  their  long  swords 
boldly  riding, 
Whack,  fal  de  ral,  etc. 


Three  hundred  British  lads  they  made  three  thousand 

reel. 
Their  hearts  were  made  of  English  oak,  their  swords  of 
Sheffield  steel. 
Their  horses  were  in  Yorkshire  bred, 
And  Beresford  them  led; 
So  huzza  for  brave  dragoons  with  their  long  swords 
boldly  riding. 
Whack,  fal  de  ral,  etc. 

149 


THE  BOLD   DRAGOON 

Then  here's  a  health  to  Wellington,  to  Beresford,  to 

Long, 
And  a  single  word  of  Bonaparte  before  I  close  my  song: 
The  eagles  that  to  fight  he  brings 
Should  serve  his  men  with  wings, 
When  they  meet  the  bold  dragoons  with  their  long 
swords  boldly  riding. 
Whack,  fal  de  ral,  etc. 


ON  THE  MASSACRE  OF  GLENCOE 

1814 
*0,  TELL  me,  Harper,  wherefore  flow 
Thy  wayward  notes  of  wail  and  woe 
Far  down  the  desert  of  Glencoe, 

Where  none  may  list  their  melody? 
Say,  harp'st  thou  to  the  mists  that  fly, 
Or  to  the  dun-deer  glancing  by, 
Or  to  the  eagle  that  from  high 

Screams  chorus  to  thy  minstrelsy?* 

*No,  not  to  these,  for  they  have  rest,  — 
The  mist-wreath  has  the  mountain-crest. 
The  stag  his  lair,  the  rene  her  nest, 

Abode  of  lone  security. 
But  those  for  whom  I  pour  the  lay. 
Not  wild-wood  deep  nor  mountain  gray, , 
Not  this  deep  dell  that  shrouds  from  day. 

Could  screen  from  treacherous  cruelty. 

'Their  flag  was  furled  and  mute  their  drum, 
The  very  household  dogs  were  dumb, 
Unwont  to  bay  at  guests  that  come 
In  guise  of  hospitality. 
151 


ON  THE  MASSACRE  OF  GLENCOE 

His  blithest  notes  the  piper  plied, 
Her  gayest  snood  the  maiden  tied, 
The  dame  her  distaff  flung  aside 
To  tend  her  kindly  housewifery. 

*The  hand  that  mingled  in  the  meal 
At  midnight  drew  the  felon  steel, 
And  gave  the  host's  kind  breast  to  feel 

Meed  for  his  hospitality ! 
The  friendly  hearth  which  warmed  that  hand 
At  midnight  armed  it  with  the  brand 
That  bade  destruction's  flames  expand 

Their  red  and  fearful  blazonry. 

'Then  woman's  shriek  was  heard  in  vain, 
Nor  infancy's  unpitied  plain, 
More  than  the  warrior's  groan,  could  gain 

Respite  from  ruthless  butchery! 
The  winter  wind  that  whistled  shrill. 
The  snows  that  night  that  cloked  the  hill, 
Though  wild  and  pitiless,  had  still 
Far  more  than  Southern  clemency. 

*  Long  have  my  harp's  best  notes  been  gone. 
Few  are  its  strings  and  faint  their  tone, 
They  can  but  sound  in  desert  lone 
Their  grey-haired  master's  misery. 

IS2 


ON  THE  MASSACRE  OF  GLENCOE 

Were  each  grey  hair  a  minstrel  string, 
Each  chord  should  imprecations  fling, 
Till  startled  Scotland  loud  should  ring, 
"Revenge  for  blood  and  treachery!"* 


SONG 

FOR  THE  ANNIVERSARY  MEETING  OF  THE  PITT  CLUB 
OF  SCOTLAND 

1814 

O,  DREAD  was  the  time,  and  more  dreadful  the  omen, 

When  the  brave  on  Marengo  lay  slaughtered  in  vain, 
And  beholding  broad  Europe  bowed  down  by  her  foe- 
men, 

Pitt  closed  in  his  anguish  the  map  of  her  reign ! 
Not  the  fate  of  broad  Europe  could  bend  his  brave 
spirit 

To  take  for  his  country  the  safety  of  shame; 
O,  then  in  her  triumph  remember  his  merit, 

And  hallow  the  goblet  that  flows  to  his  name. 

Round  the   husbandman's  head   while  he  traces  the 
furrow 
The  mists  of  the  winter  may  mingle  with  rain, 
He  may  plough  it  with  labour  and  sow  it  in  sorrow, 
And  sigh  while  he  fears  he  has  sowed  it  in  vain; 
He  may  die  ere  his  children  shall  reap  in  their  gladness, 
But  the  blithe  harvest-home    shall    remember    his 
claim; 
And  their  jubilee-shout  shall  be  softened  with  sadness. 
While  they  hallow  the  goblet  that  flows  to  his  name. 

154 


SONG 

Though  anxious  and  timeless  his  life  was  expended, 

In  toils  for  our  country  preserved  by  his  care, 
Though  he  died  ere  one  ray  o'er  the  nations  ascended. 

To  light  the  long  darkness  of  doubt  and  despair ; 
The  storms  he  endured  in  our  Britain's  December, 

The  perils  his  wisdom  foresaw  and  o'ercame, 
In  her  glory's  rich  harvest  shall  Britain  remember, 

And  hallow  the  goblet  that  flows  to  his  name. 

Nor  forget  His  gray  head  who,  all  dark  in  affliction, 

Is  deaf  to  the  tale  of  our  victories  won. 
And  to  sounds  the  most  dear  to  paternal  afifection, 

The  shout  of  his  people  applauding  his  Son; 
By  his  firmness  unmoved  in  success  and  disaster. 

By  his  long  reign  of  virtue,  remember  his  claim ! 
With  our  tribute  to  Pitt  join  the  praise  of  his  Master, 

Though  a  tear  stain  the  goblet  that  flows  to  his  name. 

Yet  again  fill  the  wine-cup  and  change  the  sad  measure, 

The  rites  of  our  grief  and  our  gratitude  paid. 
To  our  Prince,  to  our  Heroes,  devote  the  bright  treasure. 

The  wisdom  that  planned,  and  the  zeal  that  obeyed! 
Fill  Wellington's  cup  till  it  beam  like  his  glory, 

Forget  not  our  own  brave  Dalhousie  and  Gr^me; 
A  thousand  years  hence  hearts  shall  bound  at  their 
story, 

And  hallow  the  goblet  that  flows  to  their  fame. 


LINES 

ADDRESSED   TO    RANALD   MACDONALD,    ESQ.,    OF    STAFFA 

1814 

Staffa,  sprung  from  high  Macdonald, 
Worthy  branch  of  old  Clan-Ranald! 
Staffa !  king  of  all  kind  fellows ! 
Well  befall  thy  hills  and  valleys, 
Lakes  and  inlets,  deeps  and  shallows  — 
Cliffs  of  darkness,  caves  of  wonder, 
Echoing  the  Atlantic  thunder; 
Mountains  which  the  gray  mist  covers, 
Where  the  Chieftain  spirit  hovers. 
Pausing  while  his  pinions  quiver. 
Stretched  to  quit  our  land  forever! 
Each  kind  influence  reign  above  thee! 
Warmer  heart  'twixt  this  and  Staffa  ' 
Beats  not  than  in  heart  of  Staffa! 


156 


PHAROS  LOQUITUR 

1814 

Far  In  the  bosom  of  the  deep, 

O'er  these  wild  shelves  my  watch  I  keep; 

A  ruddy  gem  of  changeful  light, 

Bound  on  the  dusky  brow  of  night, 

The  seaman  bids  my  lustre  hail, 

And  scorns  to  strike  his  timorous  sail. 


IS7 


LETTER   IN   VERSE 

ON  THE  VOYAGE  WITH  THE   COMMISSIONERS   OF 
NORTHERN   LIGHTS 

TO  HIS  GRACE  THE  DUKE   OF  BUCCLEUCH 

Lighthouse  Yacht  in  the  Sound  of  Lerwick, 
Zetland,  8th  August,  1814. 

Health  to  the  chieftain  from  his  clansman  true! 
From  her  true  minstrel,  health  to  fair  Buccleuch! 
Health  from  the  isles  where  dewy  Morning  weaves 
Her  chaplet  with  the  tints  that  Twilight  leaves; 
Where  late  the  sun  scarce  vanished  from  the  sight, 
And  his  bright  pathway  graced  the  short-lived  night, 
Though  darker  now  as  autumn's  shades  extend 
The  north  winds  whistle  and  the  mists  ascend ! 
Health  from  the  land  where  eddying  whirlwinds  toss 
The  storm-rocked  cradle  of  the  Cape  of  Noss; 
On  outstretched  cords  the  giddy  engine  slides, 
His  own  strong  arm  the  bold  adventurer  guides, 
And  he  that  lists  such  desperate  feat  to  try 
May,  like  the  sea-mew,  skim  'twixt  surf  and  sky, 
And  feel  the  mid-air  gales  around  him  blow, 
And  see  the  billows  rage  five  hundred  feet  below. 

Here,  by  each  stormy  peak  and  desert  shore, 
The  hardy  islesman  tugs  the  daring  oar, 

158 


LETTER   IN  VERSE 

Practised  alike  his  venturous  course  to  keep 

Through  the  white  breakers  or  the  pathless  deep, 

By  ceaseless  peril  and  by  toil  to  gain 

A  wretched  pittance  from  the  niggard  main. 

And  when  the  worn-out  drudge  old  ocean  leaves, 

What  comfort  greets  him  and  what  hut  receives? 

Lady !  the  worst  your  presence  ere  has  cheered  — 

When  want  and  sorrow  fled  as  you  appeared  — 

Were  to  a  Zetlander  as  the  high  dome 

Of  proud  Drumlanrig  to  my  humble  home. 

Here  rise  no  groves  and  here  no  gardens  blow, 

Here  even  the  hardy  heath  scarce  dares  to  grow; 

But  rocks  on  rocks,  in  mist  and  storm  arrayed. 

Stretch  far  to  sea  their  giant  colonnade, 

With  many  a  cavern  seamed,  the  dreary  haunt 

Of  the  dun  seal  and  swarthy  cormorant. 

Wild  round  their  rifted  brows,  with  frequent  cry 

As  of  lament,  the  gulls  and  gannets  fly, 

And  from  their  sable  base  with  sullen  sound 

In  sheets  of  whitening  foam  the  waves  rebound. 

Yet  even  these  coasts  a  touch  of  envy  gain 
From  those  whose  land  has  known  oppression's  claim; 
For  here  the  industrious  Dutchman  comes,  once  more 
To  moor  his  fishing  craft  by  Bressay's  shore. 
Greets  every  former  mate  and  brother  tar. 
Marvels  how  Lerwick  'scaped  the  rage  of  war, 

159 


LETTER   IN  VERSE 

Tells  many  a  tale  of  Gallic  outrage  done, 
And  ends  by  blessing  God  and  Wellington. 
Here  too  the  Greenland  tar,  a  fiercer  guest, 
Claims  a  brief  hour  of  riot,  not  of  rest ; 
Proves  each  wild  frolic  that  in  wine  has  birth, 
And  wakes  the  land  with  brawls  and  boisterous  mirth. 
A  sadder  sight  on  yon  poor  vessel's  prow 
The  captive  Norseman  sits  in  silent  woe, 
And  eyes  the  flags  of  Britain  as  they  flow. 
Hard  fate  of  war,  which  bade  her  terrors  sway 
His  destined  course  and  seize  so  mean  a  prey, 
A  bark  with  planks  so  warped  and  seams  so  riven 
She  scarce  might  face  the  gentlest  airs  of  heaven: 
Pensive  he  sits,  and  questions  oft  if  none 
Can  list  his  speech  and  understand  his  moan: 
In  vain  —  no  Islesman  now  can  use  the  tongue 
Of  the  bold  Norse  from  whom  their  lineage  sprung. 
Not  thus  of  old  the  Norsemen  hither  came. 
Won  by  the  love  of  danger  or  of  fame ; 
On  every  storm-beat  cape  a  shapeless  tower 
Tells  of  their  wars,  their  conquests,  and  their  power; 
For  ne'er  for  Grecia's  vales  nor  Latian  land 
Was  fiercer  strife  than  for  this  barren  strand; 
A  race  severe,  the  isle  and  ocean  lords 
Loved  for  its  own  delight  the  strife  of  swords; 
With  scornful  laugh  the  mortal  pang  defied, 
And  blest  their  gods  that  they  in  battle  died. 

i6o 


LETTER   IN   VERSE 

Such  were  the  sires  of  Zetland's  simple  race, 
And  still  the  eye  may  faint  resemblance  trace 
In  the  blue  eye,  tall  form,  proportion  fair, 
The  limbs  athletic,  and  the  long  light  hair,  — 
Such  was  the  mien,  as  Scald  and  Minstrel  sings, 
Of  fair-haired  Harold,  first  of  Norway's  Kings;  — 
But  their  high  deeds  to  scale  these  crags  confined, 
Their  only  welfare  is  with  waves  and  wind. 

Why  should  I  talk  of  Mousa's  castle  coast? 
Why  of  the  horrors  of  the  Sunburgh  Rost? 
May  not  these  bald  disjointed  lines  suffice, 
Penned  while  my  comrades  whirl  the  rattling  dice  — 
While  down  the  cabin  skylight  lessening  shine 
The  rays,  and  eve  is  chased  with  mirth  and  wine? 
Imagined,  while  down  Mousa's  desert  bay 
Our  well-trimmed  vessel  urged  her  nimble  way, 
While  to  the  freshening  breeze  she  leaned  her  side. 
And  bade  her  bowsprit  kiss  the  foamy  tide? 

Such  are  the  lays  that  Zetland's  Isles  supply; 
Drenched  with  the  drizzly  spray  and  dropping  sky, 
Weary  and  wet,  a  sea-sick  minstrel  I. 

W.  Scott. 


M  i6i 


LETTER   IN   VERSE 

POSTSCRIPTUM 
Kirkwall,  Orkney,  Aug.  13,  1814. 
In  respect  thatyour  Grace  has  commissioned  a  Kraken, 
You  will  please  be  informed  that  they  seldom  are  taken ; 
It  is  January  two  years,  the  Zetland  folks  say, 
Since  they  saw  the  last  Kraken  in  Scalloway  bay; 
He  lay  in  the  offing  a  fortnight  or  more, 
But  the  devil  a  Zetlander  put  from  the  shore. 
Though  bold  in  the  seas  of  the  North  to  assail 
The  morse  and  the  sea-horse,  the  grampus  and  whale. 
If  your  Grace  thinks  I  'm  writing  the  thing  that  is  not, 
You  may  ask  at  a  namesake  of  ours,  Mr.  Scott  — 
He's  not  from  our  clan,  though  his  merits  deserve  it. 
But  springs,  I'm  informed,  from  the  Scotts  of  Scots- 

tarvet ; — 
He  questioned  the  folks  who  beheld  it  with  eyes, 
But  they  differed  confoundedly  as  to  its  size. 
For  instance,  the  modest  and  diffident  swore 
That  it  seemed  like  the  keel  of  a  ship  and  no  more  — 
Those  of  eyesight  more  clear  or  of  fancy  more  high 
Said  it  rose  like  an  island  'twixt  ocean  and  sky  — 
But  all  of  the  hulk  had  a  steady  opinion 
That 't  was  sure  a  live  subject  of  Neptune's  dominion  — 
And  I  think,  my  Lord  Duke,  your  Grace  hardly  would 

wish. 
To  cumber  your  house,  such  a  kettle  of  fish. 

162 


LETTER   IN   VERSE 

Had  your  order  related  to  night-caps  or  hose 
Or  mittens  of  worsted,  there's  plenty  of  those. 
Or  would  you  be  pleased  but  to  fancy  a  whale? 
And  direct  me  to  send  it  —  by  sea  or  by  mail? 
The  season,  I  'm  told,  is  nigh  over,  but  still 
I  could  get  you  one  fit  for  the  lake  at  Bowhill. 
Indeed,  as  to  whales,  there's  no  need  to  be  thrifty, 
Since  one  day  last  fortnight  two  hundred  and  fifty, 
Pursued  by  seven  Orkneymen's  boats  and  no  more, 
Betwixt  Truffness  and  Luff ness  were  drawn  on  the  shore ! 
You  '11  ask  if  I  saw  this  same  wonderful  sight ; 
I  own  that  I  did  not,  but  easily  might  — 
For  this  mighty  shoal  of  leviathans  lay 
On  our  lee-beam  a  mile,  in  the  loop  of  the  bay, 
And  the  islesmen  of  Sanda  were  all  at  the  spoil. 
And  flinching  —  so  term  it  —  the  blubber  to  boil ;  — 
Ye  spirits  of  lavender,  drown  the  reflection 
That  awakes  at  the  thoughts  of  this  odorous  dissec- 
tion. — 
To  see  this  huge  marvel  full  fain  would  we  go, 
But  Wilson,  the  wind,  and  the  current  said  no. 
We  have  now  got  to  Kirkwall,  and  needs  I  must  stare 
When  I  think  that  in  verse  I  have  once  called  it  fair; 
'T  is  a  base  little  borough,  both  dirty  and  mean  — 
There  is  nothing  to  hear  and  there's  nought  to  be  seen, 
Save  a  church  where  of  old  times  a  prelate  harangued, 
And  a  palace  that's  built  by  an  earl  that  was  hanged. 

163 


LETTER  IN  VERSE 

But  farewell  to  Kirkwall  —  aboard  we  are  going, 
The  anchor 's  a-peak  and  the  breezes  are  blowing ; 
Our  commodore  calls  all  his  band  to  their  places, 
And  't  is  time  to  release  you  —  good-night   to  your 
Graces! 


SONGS  AND   VERSES   FROM   WAVERLEY 

Published  in  1814. 
I 

'and  did  ye  not  hear  of  a  mirth  befell' 

To  the  tune  oj  'I  have  been  a  Fiddler,''  etc. 

'The  following  song,  which  has  been  since  borrowed  by  the  worshipful 
author  of  the  famous  History  of  Fryar  Bacon,  has  been  with  difficulty  de- 
ciphered. It  seems  to  have  been  sung  on  occasion  of  carrying  home  the  bride.' 
^Appendix  to  General  Preface.) 

And  did  ye  not  hear  of  a  mirth  befell 

The  morrow  after  a  wedding  day, 
And  carrying  a  bride  at  home  to  dwell? 

And  away  to  Tewin,  away,  away. 

The  quintain  was  set,  and  the  garlands  were  made, 
'T  is  pity  old  customs  should  ever  decay; 

And  woe  be  to  him  that  was  horsed  on  a  jade, 
For  he  carried  no  credit  away,  away. 

We  met  a  concert  of  fiddle-de-dees; 

We  set  them  a-cockhorse,  and  made  them  play 
The  winning  of  Bullen,  and  Upsey-frees, 

And  away  to  Tewin,  away,  away! 

There  was  ne'er  a  lad  in  all  the  parish 
That  would  go  to  the  plough  that  day; 
i6s 


SONGS  AND  VERSES  FROM  WAVERLEY 

But  on  his  fore-horse  his  wench  he  carries, 
And  away  to  Tewin,  away,  away! 

The  butler  was  quick,  and  the  ale  he  did  tap, 
The  maidens  did  make  the  chamber  full  gay; 

The  servants  did  give  me  a  fuddling  cup, 
And  I  did  carry  't  away,  away. 

The  smith  of  the  town  his  liquor  so  took, 

That  he  was  persuaded  the  ground  looked  blue; 

And  I  dare  boldly  be  sworn  on  a  book, 
Such  smiths  as  he  there 's  but  a  few. 

A  posset  was  made,  and  the  women  did  sip, 
And  simpering  said,  they  could  eat  no  more; 

Full  many  a  maiden  was  laid  on  the  lip,  — 
I  '11  say  no  more,  but  give  o'er,  give  o'er. 

II 

'late,  when  the  autumn  evening  fell' 

From  Chapter  v.  'His  tutor,  or,  I  should  say,  Mr.  Pembroke,  for  he  scarce 
assumed  the  name  of  tutor,  picked  up  about  Edward's  room  some  fragments  of 
irregular  verse,  which  he  appeared  to  have  composed  under  the  influence  of  the 
agitating  feelings  occasioned  by  this  sudden  page  being  turned  up  to  him  in  the 
book  of  life,'  —  i.e.,  his  being  appointed  captain  in  a  regiment  of  dragoons. 

Late,  when  the  autumn  evening  fell 
On  Mirkwood-Mere's  romantic  dell. 
The  lake  returned,  in  chastened  gleam, 
The  purple  cloud,  the  golden  beam: 
166 


SONGS  AND  VERSES  FROM  WAVERLEY 

Reflected  in  the  crystal  pool, 
Headland  and  bank  lay  fair  and  cool ; 
The  weather-tinted  rock  and  tower, 
Each  drooping  tree,  each  fairy  flower, 
So  true,  so  soft,  the  mirror  gave, 
As  if  there  lay  beneath  the  wave. 
Secure  from  trouble,  toil,  and  care, 
A  world  than  earthly  world  more  fair. 


But  distant  winds  began  to  wake, 

And  roused  the  Genius  of  the  Lake ! 

He  heard  the  groaning  of  the  oak, 

And  donned  at  once  his  sable  cloak, 

As  warrior,  at  the  battle  cry. 

Invests  him  with  his  panoply: 

Then,  as  the  whirlwind  nearer  pressed, 

He  'gan  to  shake  his  foamy  crest 

O'er  furrowed  brow  and  blackened  cheek, 

And  bade  his  surge  in  thunder  speak. 

In  wild  and  broken  eddies  whirled, 

Flitted  that  fond  ideal  world ; 

And,  to  the  shore  in  tumult  tost. 

The  realms  of  fairy  bliss  were  lost. 

Yet,  with  a  stern  delight  and  strange, 
I  saw  the  spirit-stirring  change 
167 


SONGS  AND  VERSES  FROM  WAVERLEY 

As  warred  the  wind  with  wave  and  wood. 

Upon  the  ruined  tower  I  stood, 

And  felt  my  heart  more  strongly  bound, 

Responsive  to  the  lofty  sound, 

While,  joying  in  the  mighty  roar, 

I  mourned  that  tranquil  scene  no  more. 

So,  on  the  idle  dreams  of  youth 
Breaks  the  loud  trumpet-call  of  truth, 
Bids  each  fair  vision  pass  away, 
Like  landscape  on  the  lake  that  lay. 
As  fair,  as  flitting,  and  as  frail, 
As  that  which  fled  the  autumn  gale  — 
For  ever  dead  to  fancy's  eye 
Be  each  gay  form  that  glided  by, 
While  dreams  of  love  and  lady's  charms 
Give  place  to  honour  and  to  arms! 


Ill 

'the  knight's  to  the  mountain' 

From  Chapter  ix.    'The  questioned  party  replied,  and,  like  the  witch  of 
Thalaba,  "still  his  speech  was  song."' 

The  knight 's  to  the  mountain 

His  bugle  to  wind ; 
The  lady 's  to  greenwood 

Her  garland  to  bind. 
i68 


SONGS  AND  VERSES  FROM  WAVERLEY 

The  bower  of  Burd  Ellen 

Has  moss  on  the  floor, 
That  the  step  of  Lord  William 

Be  silent  and  sure. 

IV 

'it's  up  glenbarchan's  braes  I  gaed' 

From  Chapter  xi.  '  Balmawhapple  could  hold  no  longer,  but  broke  in  with 
what  he  called  a  d — d  good  song,  composed  by  Gibby  Gaethroughwi't,  the  piper 
of  Cupar;  and,  without  wasting  more  time,  struck  up,'  — 

It's  up  Glenbarchan's  braes  I  gaed, 
And  o'er  the  bent  of  Killiebraid, 
And  mony  a  weary  cast  I  made 
To  cuittle  the  moor-fowl's  tail. 

If  up  a  bonny  black-cock  should  spring, 
To  whistle  him  down  wi'  a  slug  in  his  wing, 
And  strap  him  on  to  my  lunzie  string. 
Right  seldom  would  I  fail. 

V 
'hie  away,  hie  away' 

From  Chapter  xii.  'The  stamping  of  horses  was  now  heard  in  the  court,  and 
Davie's  voice  singing  to  t'ne  two  large  deer  greyhounds,'  — 

Hie  away,  hie  away. 

Over  bank  and  over  brae. 
Where  the  copsewood  is  the  greenest, 
Where  the  fountains  glisten  sheenest, 
169 


SONGS  AND  VERSES  FROM  WAVERLEY 

Where  the  lady-fern  grows  strongest, 
Where  the  morning  dew  Hes  longest, 
Where  the  black-cock  sweetest  sips  it. 
Where  the  fairy  latest  trips  it. 

Hie  to  haunts  right  seldom  seen, 

Lovely,  lonesome,  cool,  and  green, 

Over  bank  and  over  brae. 

Hie  away,  hie  away. 

VI 

ST.  swithin's  chair 

From  Chapter  xiii.  'The  view  of  the  old  tower,  or  fortalice,  introduced  some 
family  anecdotes  and  tales  of  Scottish  chivalry,  which  the  Baron  told  with  great 
enthusiasm.  The  projecting  peak  of  an  impending  crag,  which  rose  near  it,  had 
acquired  the  name  of  St.  Swithin's  Chair.  It  was  the  scene  of  a  peculiar  super- 
stition, of  which  Mr.  Rubricic  mentioned  some  curious  particulars,  which  re- 
minded Waverley  of  a  rhyme  quoted  by  Edgar  in  King  Lear;  and  Rose  was 
called  upon  to  sing  a  little  legend  in  which  they  had  been  interwoven  by  some 
village  poet,  — 

"Who,  noteless  as  the  race  from  which  he  sprung. 
Saved  other  names,  but  left  his  own  unsung." 

'The  sweetness  of  her  voice,  and  the  simple  beauty  of  her  music,  gave  all  the 
advantage  which  the  minstrel  could  have  desired,  and  which  his  poetry  so  much 
wanted.' 

On  Hallow-Mass  Eve,  ere  you  boune  ye  to  rest, 
Ever  beware  that  your  couch  be  blessed ; 
Sign  it  with  cross,  and  sain  it  with  bead, 
Sing  the  Ave  and  say  the  Creed. 

For  on  Hallow-Mass  Eve  the  Night-Hag  will  ride, 
And  all  her  nine-fold  sweeping  on  by  her  side, 
170 


SONGS  AND  VERSES  FROM  WAVERLEY 

Whether  the  wind  sing  lowly  or  loud, 

Sailing  through  moonshine  or  swathed  in  the  cloud. 

The  Lady  she  sate  in  St.  Swithin's  Chair, 
The  dew  of  the  night  has  damped  her  hair: 
Her  cheek  was  pale,  but  resolved  and  high 
Was  the  word  of  her  lip  and  the  glance  of  her  eye. 

She  muttered  the  spell  of  Swithin  bold, 
When  his  naked  foot  traced  the  midnight  wold, 
When  he  stopped  the  Hag  as  she  rode  the  night, 
And  bade  her  descend  and  her  promise  plight. 

He  that  dare  sit  on  St.  Swithin's  Chair 
When  the  Night-Hag  wings  the  troubled  air, 
Questions  three,  when  he  speaks  the  spell, 
He  may  ask,  and  she  must  tell. 

The  Baron  has  been  with  King  Robert  his  liege 
These  three  long  years  in  battle  and  siege ; 
News  are  there  none  of  his  weal  or  his  woe. 
And  fain  the  Lady  his  fate  would  know. 

She  shudders  and  stops  as  the  charm  she  speaks ;  — 
Is  it  the  moody  owl  that  shrieks? 
Or  is  that  sound,  betwixt  laughter  and  scream. 
The  voice  of  the  Demon  who  haunts  the  stream? 
17; 


SONGS  AND  VERSES  FROM  WAVERLEY 

The  moan  of  the  wind  sunk  silent  and  low, 
And  the  roaring  torrent  had  ceased  to  flow; 
The  calm  was  more  dreadful  than  raging  storm, 
When  the  cold  grey  mist  brought  the  ghastly  form! 


VII 
'young  MEN  WILL  LOVE   THEE   MORE  FAIR  AND  MORE 

fast' 

From  Chapter  xiv.  'The  next  day  Edward  arose  betimes,  and,  in  a  morning 
walk  around  the  house  and  its  vicinity,  came  suddenly  upon  a  small  court  in 
front  of  the  dog-kennel,  where  his  friend  Davie  was  employed  about  his  four- 
footed  charge.  One  quick  glance  of  his  eye  recognised  Waverley,  when,  in- 
stantly turning  his  back,  as  if  he  had  not  observed  him,  he  began  to  sing  part  of 
an  old  ballad.' 

Young  men  will  love  thee  more  fair  and  more  fast; 

Heard  ye  so  merry  the  little  bird  sing  ? 
Old  men's  love  the  longest  will  last. 

And  the  throstle-cock' s  head  is  under  his  wing. 

The  young  man's  wrath  is  like  light  straw  on  fire; 

Heard  ye  so  merry  the  little  bird  sing  ? 
But  like  red-hot  steel  is  the  old  man's  ire. 

And  the  throstle-cock's  head  is  under  his  wing. 

The  young  man  will  brawl  at  the  evening  board ; 

Heard  ye  so  merry  the  little  bird  sing  ? 
But  the  old  man  will  draw  at  the  dawning  the  sword, 

And  the  throstle-cock's  head  is  under  his  wing. 

172 


SONGS  AND  VERSES  FROM  WAVERLEY 

VIII 

FLORA  MAC-IVOR's   SONG 

From  Chapter  xxii 

There  is  mist  on  the  mountain,  and  night  on  the  vale, 
But  more  dark  is  the  sleep  of  the  sons  of  the  Gael. 
A  stranger  commanded  —  it  sunk  on  the  land, 
It  has  frozen  each  heart  and  benumbed  every  hand ! 

The  dirk  and  the  target  lie  sordid  with  dust, 
The  bloodless  claymore  is  but  reddened  with  rust; 
On  the  hill  or  the  glen  if  a  gun  should  appear, 
It  is  only  to  war  with  the  heath-cock  or  deer. 

The  deeds  of  our  sires  if  our  bards  should  rehearse, 
Let  a  blush  or  a  blow  be  the  meed  of  their  verse ! 
Be  mute  every  string  and  be  hushed  every  tone 
That  shall  bid  us  remember  the  fame  that  is  flown ! 

But  the  dark  hours  of  night  and  of  slumber  are  past, 
The  morn  on  our  mountains  is  dawning  at  last; 
Glenaladale's  peaks  are  illumed  with  the  rays,    .^ 
And  the  streams  of  Glenfinnan  leap  bright  in  the  blaze. 

O  high-minded  Moray!  —  the  exiled  —  the  dear!  — 
In  the  blush  of  the  dawning  the  Standard  uprear ! 

173 


SONGS  AND  VERSES  FROM  WAVERLEY 

Wide,  wide  on  the  winds  of  the  north  let  it  fly, 
Like  the  sun's  latest  flash  when  the  tempest  is  nigh! 

Ye  sons  of  the  strong,  when  that  dawning  shall  break, 
Need  the  harp  of  the  aged  remind  you  to  wake? 
That  dawn  never  beamed  on  your  forefathers'  eye, 
But  it  roused  each  high  chieftain  to  vanquish  or  die. 

O,  sprung  from  the  Kings  who  in  Islay  kept  state. 
Proud  chiefs  of  Clan-Ranald,  Glengarry,  and  Sleat! 
Combine  like  three  streams  from  one  mountain  of  snow, 
And  resistless  in  union  rush  down  on  the  foe ! 

True  son  of  Sir  Evan,  undaunted  Lochiel, 
Place  thy  targe  on  thy  shoulder  and  burnish  thy  steel! 
Rough  Keppoch,  give  breath  to  thy  bugle's  bold  swell, 
Till  far  Coryarrick  resound  to  the  knell! 

Stern  son  of  Lord  Kenneth,  high  chief  of  Kintail, 
Let  the  stag  in  thy  standard  bound  wild  in  the  gale! 
May  the  race  of  Clan-Gillean,  the  fearless  and  free, 
Remember  Glenlivat,  Harlaw,  and  Dundee ! 

Let  the  clan  of  grey  Fingon,  whose  offspring  has  given 
Such  heroes  to  earth  and  such  martyrs  to  heaven, 
Unite  with  the  race  of  renowned  Rorri  More, 
To  launch  the  long  galley  and  stretch  to  the  oar! 

174 


SONGS  AND  VERSES  FROM  WAVERLEY 

How  Mac-Shimei  will  joy  when  their  chief  shall  display 
The  yew-crested  bonnet  o'er  tresses  of  grey! 
How  the  race  of  wronged  Alpine  and  murdered  Glencoe 
Shall  shout  for  revenge  when  they  pour  on  the  foe! 

Ye  sons  of  brown  Dermid,  who  slew  the  wild  boar, 
Resume  the  pure  faith  of  the  great  Callum-More! 
Mac-Niel  of  the  Islands,  and  Moy  of  the  Lake, 
For  honour,  for  freedom,  for  vengeance  awake! 

Awake  on  your  hills,  on  your  islands  awake. 

Brave  sons  of  the  mountain,  the  frith,  and  the  lake! 

*T  is  the  bugle  —  but  not  for  the  chase  is  the  call ; 

T  is  the  pibroch's  shrill  summons  —  but  not  to  the  hall. 

'T  is  the  summons  of  heroes  for  conquest  or  death, 
When  the  banners  are  blazing  on  mountain  and  heath ; 
They  call  to  the  dirk,  the  claymore,  and  the  targe, 
To  the  march  and  the  muster,  the  line  and  the  charge. 

Be  the  brand  of  each  chieftain  like  Fin's  in  his  ire! 
May  the  blood  through  his  veins  flow  like  currents  of 

fire! 
Burst  the  base  foreign  yoke  as  your  sires  did  of  yore ! 
Or  die  like  your  sires,  and  endure  it  no  more! 


I7S' 


SONGS  AND  VERSES  FROM  WAVERLEY 


IX 

TO  AN    OAK  TREE 

IN   THE    CHURCHYARD   OF  ,    IN  THE    HIGHLANDS  OF 

SCOTLAND,    SAID    TO    MARK    THE    GRAVE    OF   CAPTAIN 
WOGAN,   KILLED  IN   1649 

From  Chapter  xxix.  'The  letter  from  the  Chief  contained  Flora's  lines  on 
the  fate  of  Captain  Wogan,  whose  enterprising  character  is  so  well  drawn  by 
Clarendon.  He  had  originally  engaged  in  the  service  of  the  Parliament,  but  had 
abjured  that  party  upon  the  execution  of  Charles  I;  and  upon  hearing  that  the 
royal  standard  was  set  up  by  the  Earl  of  Glencairn  and  General  Middleton  in 
the  Highlands  of  Scotland,  took  leave  of  Charles  II,  who  was  then  at  Paris, 
passed  into  England,  assembled  a  body  of  cavaliers  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
London,  and  traversed  the  kingdom,  which  had  been  so  long  under  domination 
of  the  usurper,  by  marches  conducted  with  such  skill,  dexterity,  and  spirit,  that 
he  safely  united  his  handful  of  horsemen  with  the  body  of  Highlanders  then  in 
arms.  After  several  months  of  desultory  warfare,  in  which  Wogan's  skill  and 
courage  gained  him  the  highest  reputation,  he  had  the  misfortune  to  be  wounded 
in  a  dangerous  manner,  and,  no  surgical  assistance  being  within  reach,  he  ter- 
minated his  short  but  glorious  career.' 

Emblem  of  England's  ancient  faith, 
Full  proudly  may  thy  branches  wave. 

Where  loyalty  lies  low  in  death, 
And  valour  fills  a  timeless  grave. 


And  thou,  brave  tenant  of  the  tomb! 

Repine  not  if  our  clime  deny, 
Above  thine  honoured  sod  to  bloom, 

The  flowerets  of  a  milder  sky. 

These  owe  their  birth  to  genial  May; 

Beneath  a  fiercer  sun  they  pine, 

176 


SONGS  AND  VERSES  FROM  WAVERLEY 

Before  the  winter  storm  decay  — 
And  can  their  worth  be  type  of  thine? 

No!  for  'mid  storms  of  Fate  opposing, 
Still  higher  swelled  thy  dauntless  heart, 

And,  while  Despair  the  scene  was  closing, 
Commenced  thy  brief  but  brilliant  part. 

'T  was  then  thou  sought'st  on  Albyn's  hill, 
(When  England's  sons  the  strife  resigned,) 

A  rugged  race  resisting  still, 

And  unsubdued,  though  unrefined. 

Thy  death's  hour  heard  no  kindred  wail. 
No  holy  knell  thy  requiem  rung; 

Thy  mourners  were  the  plaided  Gael, 
Thy  dirge  the  clamorous  pibroch  sung. 

Yet  who,  in  Fortune's  summer-shine 
To  waste  life's  longest  term  away, 

Would  change  that  glorious  dawn  of  thine, 
Though  darkened  ere  its  noontide  day? 

Be  thine  the  Tree  whose  dauntless  boughs 
Brave  summer's  drought  and  winter's  gloom! 

Rome  bound  with  oak  her  patriots'  brows, 
As  Albyn  shadows  Wogan's  tomb. 
50  177 


SONGS  AND  VERSES  FROM  WAVERLEY 

X 

'we  are  bound  to  drive  the  bullocks* 

From  Chapter  xxxviii.  'The  clan  of  Mac-Farlane,  occupjangthe  fastnesses 
of  the  western  side  of  Loch  Lomond,  were  great  depredators  on  the  Low 
Country;  and  as  their  excursions  were  made  usually  by  night,  the  moon  was 
proverbially  called  their  lantern.  Their  celebrated  pibroch  of  Hoggil  nam  Bo, 
which  is  the  name  of  their  gathering  tune,  intimates  similar  practices,  the 
sense  being '  — 

We  are  bound  to  drive  the  bullocks, 
All  by  hollows,  hirsts,  and  hillocks, 

Through  the  sleet  and  through  the  rain. 
When  the  moon  is  beaming  low 
On  frozen  lake  and  hills  of  snow, 
Bold  and  heartily  we  go. 

And  all  for  little  gain. 

XI 
*BUT  FOLLOW,   FOLLOW  ME' 

From  Chapter  lxiii 

But  follow,  follow  me, 

While  glowworms  light  the  lea, 

I  '11  show  ye  where  the  dead  should  be  — 

Each  in  his  shroud, 

While  winds  pipe  loud, 
And  the  red  moon  peeps  dim  through  the  cloud. 

Follow,  follow  me: 
Brave  should  he  be 
That  treads  by  night  the  dead  man's  lea. 


FOR  A'  THAT  AN'  A'  THAT 

A   NEW   SONG  TO  AN   OLD  TUNE 
1814 

Though  right  be  aft  put  down  by  strength, 

As  mony  a  day  we  saw  that, 
The  true  and  leilfu'  cause  at  length 

Shall  bear  the  grie  for  a'  that! 
For  a'  that  an'  a'  that. 

Guns,  guillotines,  and  a'  that. 
The  Fleur-de-lis,  that  lost  her  right, 

Is  queen  again  for  a'  that ! 

We  '11  twine  her  in  a  friendly  knot 

With  England's  Rose,  and  a'  that; 
The  Shamrock  shall  not  be  forgot, 

For  Wellington  made  bra'  that. 
The  Thistle,  though  her  leaf  be  rude, 

Yet  faith  we'll  no  misca'  that. 
She  sheltered  in  her  solitude 

The  Fleur-de-lis,  for  a'  that. 

The  Austrian  Vine,  the  Prussian  Pine, 
(For  Blucher's  sake,  hurra  that,) 

The  Spanish  Olive,  too,  shall  join, 
And  bloom  in  peace  for  a'  that. 
179 


FOR  A'  THAT  AN'  A'  THAT 

Stout  Russia's  Hemp,  so  surely  twined 
Around  our  wreath  we'll  draw  that, 

And  he  that  would  the  cord  unbind, 
Shall  have  it  for  his  gra-vat! 

Or,  if  to  choke  sae  puir  a  sot, 

Your  pity  scorn  to  thraw  that, 
The  Devil's  elbo'  be  his  lot. 

Where  he  may  sit  and  claw  that. 
In  spite  of  slight,  in  spite  of  might, 

In  spite  of  brags  and  a'  that, 
The  lads  that  battled  for  the  right 

Have  won  the  day  and  a'  that! 

There's  ae  bit  spot  I  had  forgot, 

America  they  ca'  that! 
A  coward  plot  her  rats  had  got 

Their  father's  flag  to  gnaw  that: 
Now  see  it  fly  top-gallant  high, 

Atlantic  winds  shall  blaw  that. 
And  Yankee  loon,  beware  your  croun. 

There 's  kames  in  hand  to  claw  that ! 

For  on  the  land,  or  on  the  sea. 
Where'er  the  breezes  blaw  that, 

The  British  Flag  shall  bear  the  grie, 
And  win  the  day  for  a'  that! 


FAREWELL  TO  MACKENZIE 

HIGH  CHIEF   OF  KINTAIL 

From  the  Gaelic 

1815 

The  original  verses  are  arranged  to  a  beautiful  Gaelic  air,  of  which  the 
chorus  is  adapted  to  the  double  pull  upon  the  oars  of  a  galley,  and  which  is 
therefore  distinct  from  the  ordinary  jorrams,  or  boat-songs.  They  were  com- 
posed by  the  Family  Bard  upon  the  departure  of  the  Earl  of  Seaforth,  who  was 
obliged  to  take  refuge  in  Spain,  after  an  unsuccessful  effort  at  insurrection  in 
favour  of  the  Stuart  family,  in  the  year  1718. 

Farewell  to  Mackenneth,  great  Earl  of  the  North, 
The  Lord  of  Lochcarron,  Glenshiel,  and  Seaforth; 
To  the  Chieftain  this  morning  his  course  who  began, 
Launching  forth  on  the  billows  his  bark  like  a  swan. 
For  a  far  foreign  land  he  has  hoisted  his  sail, 
Farewell  to  Mackenzie,  High  Chief  of  Kintail! 

0,  swift  be  the  galley  and  hardy  her  crew. 

May  her  captain  be  skilful,  her  mariners  true, 

In  danger  undaunted,  unwearied  by  toil. 

Though  the  whirlwind  should  rise  and  the  ocean  should 

boil: 
On  the  brave  vessel's  gunnel  I  drank  his  bonail, 
And  farewell  to  Mackenzie,  High  Chief  of  Kintail! 

Awake  in  thy  chamber,  thou  sweet  southland  gale ! 
Like  the  sighs  of  his  people,  breathe  soft  on  his  sail ; 

181 


FAREWELL  TO  MACKENZIE 

Be  prolonged  as  regret  that  his  vassals  must  know, 
Be  fair  as  their  faith  and  sincere  as  their  woe: 
Be  so  soft  and  so  fair  and  so  faithful,  sweet  gale, 
Wafting  onward  Mackenzie,  High  Chief  of  Kintail! 

Be  his  pilot  experienced  and  trusty  and  wise, 
To  measure  the  seas  and  to  study  the  skies: 
May  he  hoist  all  his  canvas  from  streamer  to  deck. 
But  O!  crowd  it  higher  when  wafting  him  back  — 
Till  the  cliffs  of  Skooroora  and  Conan's  glad  vale 
Shall  welcome  Mackenzie,  High  Chief  of  Kintail ! 


IMITATION 

OF  THE   PRECEDING   SONG 
1815 

So  sung  the  old  bard  in  the  grief  of  his  heart 
When  he  saw  his  loved  lord  from  his  people  depart. 
Now  mute  on  thy  mountains,  O  Albyn,  are  heard 
Nor  the  voice  of  the  song  nor  the  harp  of  the  bard ; 
Or  its  strings  are  but  waked  by  the  stern  winter  gale, 
As  they  mourn  for  Mackenzie,  last  Chief  of  Kintail. 

From  the  far  Southland  Border  a  minstrel  came  forth, 
And  he  waited  the  hour  that  some  bard  of  the  north 
His  hand  on  the  harp  of  the  ancient  should  cast, 
And  bid  its  wild  numbers  mix  high  with  the  blast; 
But  no  bard  was  there  left  in  the  land  of  the  Gael 
To  lament  for  Mackenzie,  last  Chief  of  Kintail. 

'And  shalt  thou   then   sleep,'   did    the   minstrel  ex- 
claim, 
'Like  the  son  of  the  lowly,  unnoticed  by  fame? 
No,  son  of  Fitzgerald !  in  accents  of  woe 
The  song  thou  hast  loved  o'er  thy  coffin  shall  flow, 
And  teach  thy  wild  mountains  to  join  in  the  wail 
That  laments  for  Mackenzie,  last  Chief  of  Kintail. 

183 


IMITATION  OF  THE  PRECEDING  SONG 

*  In  vain,  the  bright  course  of  thy  talents  to  wrong, 
Fate  deadened  thine  ear  and  imprisoned  thy  tongue ; 
For  brighter  o'er  all  her  obstructions  arose 

The  glow  of  the  genius  they  could  not  oppose; 

And  who  in  the  land  of  the  Saxon  or  Gael 

Might  match  with  Mackenzie,  High  Chief  of  Kintail? 

*  Thy  sons  rose  around  thee  in  light  and  in  love, 
All  a  father  could  hope,  all  a  friend  could  approve; 
What  'vails  it  the  tale  of  thy  sorrows  to  tell,  — 

In  the  spring-time  of  youth  and  of  promise  they  fell! 
Of  the  line  of  Fitzgerald  remains  not  a  male 
To  bear  the  proud  name  of  the  Chief  of  Kintail. 

*  And  thou,  gentle  dame,  who  must  bear  to  thy  grief 
For  thy  clan  and  thy  country  the  cares  of  a  chief. 
Whom  brief  rolling  moons  in  six  changes  have  left, 
Of  thy  husband  and  father  and  brethren  bereft. 

To  thine  ear  of  affection  how  sad  is  the  hail 
That  salutes  thee  the  heir  of  the  line  of  Kintail!' 


k 


WAR-SONG  OF  LACHLAN 

HIGH   CHIEF    OF   MACLEAN 
From  the  Gaelic 

1815 

This  song  appears  to  be  imperfect,  or,  at  least,  like  many  of  the  early  Gaelic 
poems,  makes  a  rapid  transition  from  one  subject  to  another;  from  the  situation, 
namely,  of  one  of  the  daughters  of  the  clan,  who  opens  the  song  by  lamenting 
the  absence  of  her  lover,  to  an  eulogium  over  the  military  glories  of  the  Chief- 
tain. The  translator  has  endeavoured  to  imitate  the  abrupt  style  of  the 
original. 

A  WEARY  month  has  wandered  o'er 
Since  last  we  parted  on  the  shore; 
Heaven!  that  I  saw  thee,  love,  once  more, 

Safe  on  that  shore  again !  — 
*T  was  valiant  Lachlan  gave  the  word ; 
Lachlan,  of  many  a  galley  lord : 
He  called  his  kindred  bands  on  board, 

And  launched  them  on  the  main. 

Clan-Gillian  is  to  ocean  gone; 
Clan-Gillian,  fierce  in  foray  known; 
Rejoicing  in  the  glory  won 

In  many  a  bloody  broil : 
For  wide  is  heard  the  thundering  fray. 
The  rout,  the  ruin,  the  dismay, 
When  from  the  twilight  glens  away 

Clan-Gillian  drives  the  spoil. 
185 


WAR-SONG   OF   LACHLAN 

Woe  to  the  hills  that  shall  rebound 

Our  bannered  bag-pipes'  maddening  sound ! 

Clan-Gillian's  onset  echoing  round, 

Shall  shake  their  inmost  cell. 
Woe  to  the  bark  whose  crew  shall  gaze 
Where  Lachlan's  silken  streamer  plays! 
The  fools  might  face  the  lightning's  blaze 

As  wisely  and  as  well ! 


SAINT  CLOUD 

1815 
Soft  spread  the  southern  summer  night 

Her  veil  of  darksome  blue; 
Ten  thousand  stars  combined  to  light 

The  terrace  of  Saint  Cloud. 

The  evening  breezes  gently  sighed, 

Like  breath  of  lover  true, 
Bewailing  the  deserted  pride 

And  wreck  of  sweet  Saint  Cloud. 

The  drum's  deep  roll  was  heard  afar, 

The  bugle  wildly  blew 
Good-night  to  Hulan  and  Hussar 

That  garrison  Saint  Cloud. 

The  startled  Naiads  from  the  shade 
With  broken  urns  withdrew, 

And  silenced  was  that  proud  cascade, 
The  glory  of  Saint  Cloud. 

We  sate  upon  its  steps  of  stone, 
Nor  could  its  silence  rue, 

187 


SAINT  CLOUD 

When  waked  to  music  of  our  own 
The  echoes  of  Saint  Cloud. 

Slow  Seine  might  hear  each  lovely  note 

Fall  light  as  summer  dew, 
While  through  the  moonless  air  they  float, 

Prolonged  from  fair  Saint  Cloud. 

And  sure  a  melody  more  sweet 

His  waters  never  knew, 
Though  music's  self  was  wont  to  meet 

With  princes  at  Saint  Cloud. 

Nor  then  with  more  delighted  ear 

The  circle  round  her  drew 
Than  ours,  when  gathered  round  to  hear 

Our  songstress  at  Saint  Cloud. 

Few  happy  hours  poor  mortals  pass,  — 
Then  give  those  hours  their  due, 

And  rank  among  the  foremost  class 
Our  evenings  at  Saint  Cloud. 


THE   DANCE  OF  DEATH 

1815 
Night  and  morning  were  at  meeting 

Over  Waterloo ; 
Cocks  had  sung  their  earhest  greeting ; 

Faint  and  low  they  crew, 
For  no  paly  beam  yet  shone 
On  the  heights  of  Mount  Saint  John; 
Tempest-clouds  prolonged  the  sway 
Of  timeless  darkness  over  day; 
Whirlwind,  thunder-clap,  and  shower 
Marked  it  a  predestined  hour. 
Broad  and  frequent  through  the  night 
Flashed  the  sheets  of  levin-light; 
Muskets,  glancing  lightnings  back, 
Showed  the  dreary  bivouac 

Where  the  soldier  lay. 
Chill  and  stiff  and  drenched  with  rain, 
Wishing  dawn  of  morn  again. 

Though  death  should  come  with  day. 

'T  is  at  such  a  tide  and  hour 
Wizard,  witch,  and  fiend  have  power, 
And  ghastly  forms  through  mist  and  shower 
Gleam  on  the  gifted  ken; 
189 


THE  DANCE  OF  DEATH 

And  then  the  affrighted  prophet's  ear 
Drinks  whispers  strange  of  fate  and  fear, 
Presaging  death  and  ruin  near 

Among  the  sons  of  men ;  — 
Apart  from  Albyn's  war-array, 
'T  was  then  grey  Allan  sleepless  lay ; 
Grey  Allan,  who  for  many  a  day 

Had  followed  stout  and  stem, 
Where,  through  battle's  rout  and  reel, 
Storm  of  shot  and  edge  of  steel, 
Led  the  grandson  of  Lochiel, 

Valiant  Fassiefern. 
Through  steel  and  shot  he  leads  no  more, 
Low  laid  mid  friends'  and  foemen's  gore  — 
But  long  his  native  lake's  wild  shore, 
And  Sunart  rough,  and  high  Ardgower, 

And  Morven  long  shall  tell. 
And  proud  Bennevis  hear  with  awe, 
How  upon  bloody  Quatre-Bras 
Brave  Cameron  heard  the  wild  hurra 

Of  conquest  as  he  fell. 

Lone  on  the  outskirts  of  the  host. 
The  weary  sentinel  held  post, 
And  heard  through  darkness  far  aloof 
The  frequent  clang  of  courser's  hoof, 
Where  held  the  cloaked  patrol  their  course 
190 


THE   DANCE   OF   DEATH 

And  spurred  'gainst  storm  the  swerving  horse; 
But  there  are  sounds  in  Allan's  ear 
Patrol  nor  sentinel  may  hear, 
And  sights  before  his  eye  aghast 
Invisible  to  them  have  passed, 

When  down  the  destined  plain, 
'Twixt  Britain  and  the  bands  of  France, 
Wild  as  marsh-borne  meteor's  glance, 
Strange  phantoms  wheeled  a  revel  dance 

And  doomed  the  future  slain. 
Such  forms  were  seen,  such  sounds  were  heard, 
When  Scotland's  James  his  march  prepared 

For  Flodden's  fatal  plain; 
Such,  when  he  drew  his  ruthless  sword, 
As  Choosers  of  the  Slain,  adored 

The  yet  unchristened  Dane. 
An  indistinct  and  phantom  band. 
They  wheeled  their  ring-dance  hand  in  hand 

With  gestures  wild  and  dread : 
The  Seer,  who  watched  them  ride  the  storm, 
Saw  through  their  faint  and  shadowy  form 

The  lightning's  flash  more  red; 
And  still  their  ghastly  roundelay 
Was  of  the  coming  battle-fray 

And  of  the  destined  dead. 


191 


THE  DANCE  OF  DEATH 

SONG 

Wheel  the  wild  dance 
While  lightnings  glance 

And  thunders  rattle  loud, 
And  call  the  brave 
To  bloody  grave, 

To  sleep  without  a  shroud. 

Our  airy  feet, 
So  light  and  fleet, 

They  do  not  bend  the  rye 
That  sinks  its  head  when  whirlwinds  rave. 
And  swells  again  in  eddying  wave 

As  each  wild  gust  blows  by; 
But  still  the  corn 
At  dawn  of  morn 

Our  fatal  steps  that  bore, 
At  eve  lies  waste, 
A  trampled  paste 

Of  blackening  mud  and  gore. 

Wheel  the  wild  dance 
While  lightnings  glance 

And  thunders  rattle  loud, 
And  call  the  brave 
To  bloody  grave, 

To  sleep  without  a  shroud. 
192 


i 


THE   DANCE   OF   DEATH 

Wheel  the  wild  dance ! 
Brave  sons  of  France, 

For  you  our  ring  makes  room ; 
Make  space  full  wide 
For  martial  pride, 

For  banner,  gpear,  and  plume. 
Approach,  draw  near, 
Proud  cuirassier! 

Room  for  the  men  of  steel! 
Through  crest  and  plate 
The  broadsword's  weight 

Both  head  and  heart  shall  feel. 


Wheel  the  wild  dance 
While  lightnings  glance 

And  thunders  rattle  loud, 
And  call  the  brave 
To  bloody  grave. 

To  sleep  without  a  shroud. 

Sons  of  the  spear! 
You  feel  us  near 

In  many  a  ghastly  dream ; 
With  fancy's  eye 
Our  forms  you  spy. 

And  hear  our  fatal  scream. 
50  193 


THE   DANCE  OF  DEATH 

With  clearer  sight 
Ere  falls  the  night, 

Just  when  to  weal  or  woe 
Your  disembodied  souls  take  flight 
On  trembling  wing  —  each  startled  sprite 

Our  choir  of  death  shall  know. 


Wheel  the  wild  dance 
While  lightnings  glance 

And  thunders  rattle  loud, 
And  call  the  brave 
To  bloody  grave, 

To  sleep  without  a  shroud. 

Burst  ye  clouds,  in  tempest  showers, 
Redder  rain  shall  soon  be  ours  — 

See  the  east  grows  wan  — 
Yield  we  place  to  sterner  game. 
Ere  deadlier  bolts  and  direr  flame 
Shall  the  welkin's  thunders  shame; 
Elemental  rage  is  tame 

To  the  wrath  of  man. 

At  morn,  grey  Allan's  mates  with  awe 
Heard  of  the  visioned  sights  he  saw, 
The  legend  heard  him  say; 
194 


THE   DANCE   OF   DEATH 

But  the  Seer's  gifted  eye  was  dim, 
Deafened  his  ear  and  stark  his  Hmb, 

Ere  closed  that  bloody  day  — 
He  sleeps  far  from  his  Highland  heath,  — 
But  often  of  the  Dance  of  Death 

His  comrades  tell  the  tale, 
On  picquet-post  when  ebbs  the  night, 
And  waning  watch-fires  glow  less  bright, 

And  dawn  is  glimmering  pale. 


ROMANCE  OF   DUNOIS 

1815 
It  was  Dunois,  the  young  and  brave,  was  bound  for 

Palestine, 
But  first  he  made  his  orisons  before  Saint  Mary's  shrine: 
'And  grant,  immortal  Queen  of  Heaven,'  was  still  the 

soldier's  prayer, 
'That  I  may  prove  the  bravest  knight  and  love  the 

fairest  fair.' 

His  oath  of  honour  on  the  shrine  he  graved  it  with  his 

sword, 
And  followed  to  the  Holy  Land  the  banner  of  his  Lord ; 
Where,  faithful  to  his  noble  vow,  his  war-cry  filled  the 

air, 
'  Be  honoured  aye  the  bravest  knight,  be  loved  the  fairest 

fair.' 

They  owed  the  conquest  to  his  arm,  and  then  his  liege- 
lord  said, 

*  The  heart  that  has  for  honour  beat  by  bliss  must  be 
repaid. 

My  daughter  Isabel  and  thou  shall  be  a  wedded  pair, 

For  thou  art  bravest  of  the  brave,  she  fairest  of  the 
fair.' 

196 


ROMANCE  OF  DUNOIS 

And  then  they  bound  the  holy  knot  before  Saint  Mary's 

shrine 
That  makes  a  paradise  on  earth,  if  hearts  and  hands 

combine ; 
And  every  lord  and  lady  bright  that  were  in  chapel 

there 
Cried,  'Honoured  be  the  bravest  knight,  beloved  the 

fairest  fair!' 


THE  TROUBADOUR 

1815 
Glowing  with  love,  on  fire  for  fame, 

A  Troubadour  that  hated  sorrow 
Beneath  his  lady's  window  came, 

And  thus  he  sung  his  last  good-morrow: 
*My  arm  it  is  my  country's  right, 

My  heart  is  in  my  true  love's  bower; 
Gayly  for  love  and  fame  to  fight 
Befits  the  gallant  Troubadour.* 

And  while  he  marched  with  helm  on  head 

And  harp  in  hand,  the  descant  rung, 
As,  faithful  to  his  favourite  maid, 

The  minstrel-burden  still  he  sung: 
*My  arm  it  is  my  country's  right. 

My  heart  is  in  my  lady's  bower; 
Resolved  for  love  and  fame  to  fight, 

I  come,  a  gallant  Troubadour.' 

Even  when  the  battle-roar  was  deep. 
With  dauntless  heart  he  hewed  his  way, 

Mid  splintering  lance  and  falchion-sweep, 
And  still  was  heard  his  warrior-lay: 

198 


THE  TROUBADOUR 

/  My  life  it  is  my  country's  right, 
My  heart  is  in  my  lady's  bower; 
For  love  to  die,  for  fame  to  fight, 
Becomes  the  valiant  Troubadour.* 

Alas!  upon  the  bloody  field 

He  fell  beneath  the  foeman's  glaive, 
But  still  reclining  on  his  shield. 

Expiring  sung  the  exulting  stave : 
*My  life  it  is  my  country's  right. 

My  heart  is  in  my  lady's  bower; 
For  love  and  fame  to  fall  in  fight 

Becomes  the  valiant  Troubadour.' 


'IT  CHANCED  THAT  CUPID  ON  A  SEASON* 

1815 
It  chanced  that  Cupid  on  a  season, 

By  Fancy  urged,  resolved  to  wed, 
But  could  not  settle  whether  Reason 

Or  Folly  should  partake  his  bed. 

What  does  he  then?  —  Upon  my  life, 
'T  was  bad  example  for  a  deity  — 

He  takes  me  Reason  for  a  wife, 
And  Folly  for  his  hours  of  gayety. 

Though  thus  he  dealt  in  petty  treason. 
He  loved  them  both  in  equal  measure; 

Fidelity  was  born  of  Reason, 
And  Folly  brought  to  bed  of  Pleasure. 


200 


SONG 

ON  THE  LIFTING  OF  THE  BANNER  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF 
BUCCLEUCH,  AT  A  GREAT  FOOT-BALL  MATCH  ON 
CARTER   HAUGH 

1815 

From  the  brown  crest  of  Newark  its  summons  extending, 

Our  signal  is  waving  in  smoke  and  in  flame; 
And  each  forester  blithe,  from  his  mountain  descending, 
Bounds  light  o'er  the  heather  to  join  in  the  game. 
Then  up  with  the  Banner,  let  forest  winds  fan  her, 
She  has  blazed  over  Ettrick  eight  ages  and  more ; 
In  sport  we  '11  attend  her,  in  battle  defend  her. 
With  heart  and  with  hand,  like  our  fathers  before. 

When  the  Southern  invader  spread  waste  and  disorder, 
At  the  glance  of  her  crescents  he  paused  and  with- 
drew. 
For  around  them  were  marshalled  the  pride  of  the 
Border, 
The  Flowers  of  the  Forest,  the  Bands  of  Buccleuch. 

A  stripling's  weak  hand  to  our  revel  has  borne  her. 
No  mail-glove  has  grasped   her,  no  spearmen  sur- 
round ; 
But  ere  a  bold  foeman  should  scathe  or  should  scorn  her 
A  thousand  true  hearts  would  be  cold  on  the  ground. 
201 


:sEO 


SONG 

We  forget  each  contention  of  civil  dissension, 
And  hail,  like  our  brethren,  Home,  Douglas,  and 
Car: 

And  Elliot  and  Pringle  in  pastime  shall  mingle, 
As  welcome  in  peace  as  their  fathers  in  war. 

Then  strip,  lads,  and  to  it,  though  sharp  be  the  weather. 
And  if  by  mischance  you  should  happen  to  fall, 

There  are  worse  things  in  life  than  a  tumble  on  heather, 
And  life  is  itself  but  a  game  at  foot-ball. 

And  when  it  is  over  we'll  drink  a  blithe  measure 
To  each  laird  and  each  lady  that  witnessed  our  fun. 

And  to  every  blithe  heart  that  took  part  in  our  pleasure, 
To  the  lads  that  have  lost  and  the  lads  that  have  won. 

May  the  Forest  still  flourish,  both  Borough  and  Land- 
ward, 
From  the  hall  of  the  peer  to  the  herd's  ingle-nook; 
And  huzza!  my  brave  hearts,  for  Buccleuch  and  his 
standard. 
For  the  King  and  the  Country,  the  Clan  and  the 

Duke! 
Then  up  with  the  Banner,  let  forest  winds  fan  her, 
She  has  blazed  over  Ettrick  eight  ages  and  more; 
In  sport  we  '11  attend  her,  in  battle  defend  her, 
With  heart  and  with  hand,  like  our  fathers  before. 


L. 


SONGS  FROM   GUY  MANNERING 

Published  in  1815 
I 

'canny  moment,  lucky  fit' 

From  Chapter  in 

Canny  moment,  lucky  fit; 

Is  the  lady  lighter  yet? 

Be  it  lad,  or  be  it  lass, 

Sign  wi'  cross,  and  sain  wi'  mass. 

Trefoil,  vervain,  John's-wort,  dill, 
Hinders  witches  of  their  will; 
Weel  is  them,  that  weel  may 
Fast  upon  Saint  Andrew's  day. 

Saint  Bride  and  her  brat, 
Saint  Colme  and  her  cat. 
Saint  Michael  and  his  spear, 
Keep  the  house  frae  reif  and  wear. 


203 


SONGS  FROM  GUY  MANNERING 

II 

/twist  ye,  twine  ye!  even  so* 

From  Chapter  rv 

Twist  ye,  twine  ye!  even  so 
Mingle  shades  of  joy  and  woe, 
Hope  and  fear  and  peace  and  strife, 
In  the  thread  of  human  life. 

While  the  mystic  twist  is  spinning, 
And  the  infant's  life  beginning. 
Dimly  seen  through  twilight  bending, 
Lo,  what  varied  shapes  attending! 

Passions  wild  and  follies  vain, 
Pleasures  soon  exchanged  for  pain, 
Doubt  and  jealousy  and  fear, 
In  the  magic  dance  appear. 

Now  they  wax  and  now  they  dwindle. 
Whirling  with  the  whirling  spindle. 
Twist  ye,  twine  ye !  even  so 
Mingle  human  bliss  and  woe. 


204 


SONGS  FROM   GUY  MANNERING 

III 

'wasted,  weary,  wherefore  stay' 

From  Chapter  xxvii 

Wasted,  weary,  wherefore  stay, 
Wrestling  thus  with  earth  and  clay? 
From  the  body  pass  away ;  — 
Hark!  the  mass  is  singing. 

From  thee  doff  thy  mortal  weed, 
Mary  Mother  be  thy  speed, 
Saints  to  help  thee  at  thy  need ;  — 
Hark!  the  knell  is  ringing. 

Fear  not  snow-drift  driving  fast, 
Sleet  or  hail  or  levin  blast ; 
Soon  the  shroud  shall  lap  thee  fast, 
And  the  sleep  be  on  thee  cast 

That  shall  ne'er  know  waking. 

Haste  thee,  haste  thee,  to  be  gone, 
Earth  flits  fast,  and  time  draws  on. 
Gasp  thy  gasp,  and  groan  thy  groan. 
Day  is  near  the  breaking. 


205 


SONGS  FROM  GUY  MANNERING 

IV 

'dark  shall  be  light' 

From  Chapter  xux. 

Dark  shall  be  light, 

And  wrong  done  to  right, 
When  Bertram's  right  and  Bertram's  might 
Shall  meet  on  EUangowan's  height. 


LULLABY  OF  AN   INFANT  CHIEF 

Air  — 'Cadulgulo'  » 

O,  HUSH  thee,  my  babie,  thy  sire  was  a  knight, 
Thy  mother  a  lady  both  lovely  and  bright ; 
The  woods  and  the  glens,  from  the  towers  which  we  see, 
They  all  are  belonging,  dear  babie,  to  thee. 

O  ho  ro,  i  ri  ri,  cadul  gu  lo, 

O  ho  ro,  i  ri  ri,  etc. 

O,  fear  not  the  bugle,  though  loudly  it  blows. 
It  calls  but  the  warders  that  guard  thy  repose; 
Their  bows  would  be  bended,  their  blades  would  be  red, 
Ere  the  step  of  a  foeman  draws  near  to  thy  bed. 
O  ho  ro,  i  ri  ri,  etc. 

O,  hush  thee,  my  babie,  the  time  soon  will  come. 
When  thy  sleep  shall  be  broken  by  trumpet  and  drum,' 
Then  hush  thee,  my  darling,  take  rest  while  you  may, 
For  strife  comes  with  manhood  and  waking  with  day. 
O  ho  ro,  i  ri  ri,  etc. 

•  sleep  on  till  day.' 


207 


THE  RETURN  TO  ULSTER 

1816 

Once  again,  —  but  how  changed  since  my  wanderings 

began  — 
I  have  heard  the  deep  voice  of  the  Lagan  and  Bann, 
And  the  pines  of  Clanbrassil  resound  to  the  roar 
That  wearies  the  echoes  of  fair  Tullamore. 
Alas!  my  poor  bosom,  and  why  shouldst  thou  burn! 
With  the  scenes  of  my  youth  can  its  raptures  return? 
Can  I  live  the  dear  life  of  delusion  again, 
That  flowed  when  these  echoes  first  mixed  with  my 

strain? 

It  was  then  that  around  me,  though  poor  and  un- 
known. 
High  spells  of  mysterious  enchantment  were  thrown; 
The  streams  were  of  silver,  of  diamond  the  dew, 
The  land  was  an  Eden,  for  fancy  was  new. 
I  had  heard  of  our  bards,  and  my  soul  was  on  fire 
At  the  rush  of  their  verse  and  the  sweep  of  their  lyre: 
To  me  't  was  not  legend  nor  tale  to  the  ear, 
But  a  vision  of  noontide,  distinguished  and  clear. 

Ultonia's  old  heroes  awoke  at  the  call. 
And  renewed  the  wild  pomp  of  the  chase  and  the  hall; 

208 


THE  RETURN  TO  ULSTER 

And  the  standard  of  Fion  flashed  fierce  from  on  high, 
Like  a  burst  of  the  sun  when  the  tempest  is  nigh.* 
It  seemed  that  the  harp  of  green  Erin  once  more 
Could  renew  all  the  glories  she  boasted  of  yore.  — 
Yet  why  at  remembrance,  fond  heart,  shouldst    thou 

burn? 
They  were  days  of  delusion  and  cannot  return. 

But  was  she,  too,  a  phantom,  the  maid  who  stood  by, 
And  listed  my  lay  while  she  turned  from  mine  eye? 
Was  she,  too,  a  vision,  just  glancing  to  view, 
Then  dispersed  in  the  sunbeam  or  melted  to  dew? 
O,  would  it  had  been  so !  —  O,  would  that  her  eye 
Had  been  but  a  star-glance  that  shot  through  the  sky, 
And  her  voice  that  was  moulded  to  melody's  thrill, 
Had  been  but  a  zephyr  that  sighed  and  was  still ! 

O,  would  it  had  been  so!  —  not  then  this  poor  heart 
Had  learned  the  sad  lesson,  to  love  and  to  part; 
To  bear  unassisted  its  burden  of  care, 
While  I  toiled  for  the  wealth  I  had  no  one  to  share. 
Not  then  had  I  said,  when  life's  summer  was  done 
And  the  hours  of  her  autumn  were  fast  speeding  on, 
'Take  the  fame  and  the  riches  ye  brought  in  your  train, 
And  restore  me  the  dream  of  my  springtide  again.* 

1  See  Note  i8. 


60 


JOCK  OF  HAZELDEAN 

AiE  —  'A  Border  Melody' 

I816 

The  first  stanza  of  this  ballad  is  ancient.   The  others  were  written  for  Mr. 
Campbell  Albyn's  Anthology. 

'Why  weep  ye  by  the  tide,  ladle? 

Why  weep  ye  by  the  tide? 
I  '11  wed  ye  to  my  youngest  son, 

And  ye  sail  be  his  bride: 
And  ye  sail  be  his  bride,  ladie, 

Sae  comely  to  be  seen '  — 
But  aye  she  loot  the  tears  down  fa' 

For  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 

'Now  let  this  wilfu'  grief  be  done, 

And  dry  that  cheek  so  pale ; 
Young  Frank  is  chief  of  Errington 

And  lord  of  Langley-dale ; 
His  step  is  first  in  peaceful  ha', 

His  sword  in  battle  keen '  — 
But  aye  she  loot  the  tears  down  fa' 

For  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 

*A  chain  of  gold  ye  sail  not  lack, 
Nor  braid  to  bind  your  hair; 
210 


JOCK  OF  HAZELDEAN 

Nor  mettled  hound,  nor  managed  hawk, 

Nor  palfrey  fresh  and  fair; 
And  you,  the  foremost  o'  them  a*, 

Shall  ride  our  forest  queen '  — 
But  aye  she  loot  the  tears  down  fa' 

For  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 

The  kirk  was  decked  at  morning-tide, 

The  tapers  glimmered  fair; 
The  priest  and  bridegroom  wait  the  bride, 

And  dame  and  knight  are  there. 
They  sought  her  baith  by  bower  and  ha' ; 

The  ladie  was  not  seen ! 
She's  o'er  the  Border  and  awa' 

Wi'  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 


PIBROCH   OF  DONALD   DHU 

Air  —  'Piobair  of  DonuU  Dhuidh' 

1816 

This  is  a  very  ancient  pibroch  belonging  to  Clan  MacDonald,  and  supposed 
to  refer  to  the  expedition  of  Donald  Balloch,  who,  in  143 1,  launched  from  the 
Isles  with  a  considerable  force,  invaded  Lochaber,  and  at  Inverlochy  defeated 
and  put  to  flight  the  Earls  of  Mar  and  Caithness,  though  at  the  head  of  an  army 
superior  to  his  own.  The  words  of  the  set,  theme,  or  melody,  to  which  the  pipe 
variations  are  applied,  run  thus  in  Gaelic:  — 

'  Piobaireachd  Dhonuil  Dhuidh,  piobaireachd  Dhonuil; 
Piobaireachd  Dhonuil  Dhuidh,  piobaireachd  Dhonuil; 
Piobaireachd  Dhonuil  Dhuidh,  piobaireachd  Dhonuil; 
Piob  agus  bratach  air  faiche  Inverlochi.' 

'  The  pipe-summons  of  Donald  the  Black, 
The  pipe-summons  of  Donald  the  Black, 
The  war-pipe  and  the  pennon  are  on  the  gathering-place  at  Inverlochy.* 

Pibroch  of  Donuil  Dhu, 

Pibroch  of  Donuil, 
Wake  thy  wild  voice  anew, 

Summon  Clan  Conuil. 
Come  away,  come  away, 

Hark  to  the  summons! 
Come  in  your  war  array. 

Gentles  and  commons. 


Come  from  deep  glen  and 
From  mountain  so  rocky, 

The  war-pipe  and  pennon 
Are  at  Inverlochy. 
212 


PIBROCH  OF  DONALD  DHU 

Come  every  hill-plaid  and 
True  heart  that  wears  one, 

Come  every  steel  blade  and 
Strong  hand  that  bears  one. 

Leave  untended  the  herd, 

The  flock  without  shelter; 
Leave  the  corpse  uninterred, 

The  bride  at  the  altar; 
Leave  the  deer,  leave  the  steer, 

Leave  nets  and  barges: 
Come  with  your  fighting  gear, 

Broadswords  and  targes. 

Come  as  the  winds  come  when 

Forests  are  rended ; 
Come  as  the  waves  come  when 

Navies  are  stranded : 
Faster  come,  faster  come, 

Faster  and  faster. 
Chief,  vassal,  page  and  groom. 

Tenant  and  master. 

Fast  they  come,  fast  they  come; 

See  how  they  gather! 
Wide  waves  the  eagle  plume, 

Blended  with  heather. 
213 


PIBROCH  OF  DONALD   DHU 

Cast  your  plaids,  draw  your  blades, 

Forward  each  man  set! 
Pibroch  of  Donuil  Dhu, 

Knell  for  the  onset! 


NORA'S  VOW 

Are  —  'CAa  kid  mis  a  chaoidh'  * 

1816 

In  the  original  Gaelic,  the  Lady  makes  protestations  that  she  will  not  go 
with  the  Red  Earl's  son,  until  the  swan  should  build  in  the  difif,  and  the  eagle  in 
the  lake  —  until  one  mountain  should  change  places  with  another,  and  so  forth. 
It  is  but  fair  to  add,  that  there  is  no  authority  for  supposing  that  she  altered 
her  mind  —  except  for  the  vehemence  of  her  protestation. 

Hear  what  Highland  Nora  said, 
'The  EarUe's  son  I  will  not  wed, 
Should  all  the  race  of  nature  die 
And  none  be  left  but  he  and  I. 
For  all  the  gold,  for  all  the  gear. 
And  all  the  lands  both  far  and  near, 
That  ever  valour  lost  or  won, 
I  would  not  wed  the  Earlie's  son.' 

*A  maiden's  vows,'  old  Galium  spoke, 
'Are  lightly  made  and  lightly  broke; 
The  heather  on  the  mountain's  height 
Begins  to  bloom  in  purple  light; 
The  frost-wind  soon  shall  sweep  away 
That  lustre  deep  from  glen  and  brae; 
Yet  Nora  ere  its  bloom  be  gone 
May  blithely  wed  the  Earlie's  son.' 

'  I  will  never  go  with  him. 
215 


NORA'S  VOW 

'The  swan,'  she  said,  'the  lake's  clear  breast 
May  barter  for  the  eagle's  nest; 
The  Awe's  fierce  stream  may  backward  turn, 
Ben-Cruaichan  fall  and  crush  Kilchurn; 
Our  kilted  clans  when  blood  is  high 
Before  their  foes  may  turn  and  fly; 
But  I,  were  all  these  marvels  done, 
Would  never  wed  the  Earlie's  son.* 

Still  in  the  water-lily's  shade 

Her  wonted  nest  the  wild-swan  made; 

Ben-Cruaichan  stands  as  fast  as  ever, 

Still  downward  foams  the  Awe's  fierce  river; 

To  shun  the  clash  of  foeman's  steel 

No  Highland  brogue  has  turned  the  heel; 

But  Nora's  heart  is  lost  and  won  — 

She's  wedded  to  the  Earlie's  son! 


MACGREGOR'S  GATHERING 

Air  — '  Thain'  a  Grigdach '  * 

1816 

These  verses  are  adapted  to  a  very  wild,  yet  lively  gathering-tune,  used  by 
the  MacGregors.  The  severe  treatment  of  this  Clan,  their  outlawry,  and  the 
proscription  of  their  very  name,  are  alluded  to  in  the  Ballad. 

The  moon 's  on  the  lake  and  the  mist 's  on  the  brae, 
And  the  Clan  has  a  name  that  is  nameless  by  day; 

Then  gather,  gather,  gather,  Grigalach ! 

Gather,  gather,  gather,  etc. 

Our  signal  for  fight,  that  from  monarchs  we  drew, 
Must  be  heard  but  by  night  in  our  vengeful  haloo! 

Then  haloo,  Grigalach!  haloo,  Grigalach! 

Haloo,  haloo,  haloo,  Grigalach,  etc. 

Glen  Orchy's  proud  mountains,  Coalchurn  and  her  towers, 
Glenstrae  and  Glenlyon  no  longer  are  ours; 

We're  landless,  landless,  landless,  Grigalach! 

Landless,  landless,  landless,  etc. 

But  doomed  and  devoted  by  vassal  and  lord, 
MacGregor  has  still  both  his  heart  and  his  sword ! 

Then  courage,  courage,  courage,  Grigalach! 

Courage,  courage,  courage,  etc. 

*  The  MacGregor  is  come. 
217 


MACGREGOR'S  GATHERING 

If  they  rob  us  of  name  and  pursue  us  with  beagles, 
Give  their  roofs  to  the  flame  and  their  flesh  to  the 
eagles ! 

Then  vengeance,  vengeance,  vengeance,  Grigalach! 

Vengeance,  vengeance,  vengeance,  etc. 

While  there 's  leaves  in  the  forest  and  foam  on  the  river, 
MacGregor,  despite  them,  shall  flourish  forever! 

Come  then,  Grigalach,  come  then,  Grigalach! 

Come  then,  come  then,  come  then,  etc. 

Through  the  depths  of  Loch  Katrine  the  steed  shall 

career. 
O'er  the  peak  of  Ben-Lomond  the  galley  shall  steer. 
And  the  rocks  of  Craig-Royston  like  icicles  melt. 
Ere  our  wrongs  be  forgot  or  our  vengeance  unfelt. 

Then  gather,  gather,  gather,  Grigalach ! 

Gather,  gather,  gather,  etc. 


VERSES 

COMPOSED  FOR  THE  OCCASION,  ADAPTED  TO  HAYDN's  AIR 
'god  save  THE  EMPEROR  FRANCIS,'  AND  SUNG  BY  A 
SELECT  BAND  AFTER  THE  DINNER  GIVEN  BY  THE  LORD 
PROVOST  OF  EDINBURGH  TO  THE  GRAND-DUKE  NICHOLAS 
OF  RUSSIA,  AND  HIS  SUITE,  I9TH  DECEMBER,  I816. 

God  protect  brave  Alexander, 
Heaven  defend  the  noble  Czar, 
Mighty  Russia's  high  Commander, 
First  in  Europe's  banded  war ; 
For  the  realms  he  did  deliver 
From  the  tyrant  overthrown, 
Thou,  of  every  good  the  Giver, 
Grant  him  long  to  bless  his  own ! 
Bless  him,  mid  his  land's  disaster 
For  her  rights  who  battled  brave; 
Of  the  land  of  foemen  master, 
Bless  him  who  their  wrongs  forgave. 
O'er  his  just  resentment  victor, 
Victor  over  Europe's  foes. 
Late  and  long  supreme  director, 
Grant  in  peace  his  reign  may  close. 
Hail!  then,  hail!  illustrious  stranger! 
Welcome  to  our  mountain  strand ; 
Mutual  interests,  hopes,  and  danger. 
Link  us  with  thy  native  land. 
219 


VERSES 

Freemen's  force  or  false  beguiling 
Shall  that  union  ne'er  divide, 
Hand  in  hand  while  peace  is  smiling, 
And  in  battle  side  by  side. 


VERSES  FROM  THE  ANTIQUARY 

Published  in  1816 
I 

'he  came,  but  valour  so  had  fired  his  eye' 

From  Chapter  vi 

He  came;  but  valour  so  had  fired  his  eye, 
And  such  a  falchion  gUttered  on  his  thigh, 
That,  by  the  gods,  with  such  a  load  of  steel, 
I  thought  he  came  to  murder,  not  to  heal. 


II 

'why  sit'st  thou  by  that  ruined  hall* 

From  Chapter  x 

'Why  sit'st  thou  by  that  ruined  hall. 
Thou  aged  carle  so  stern  and  grey? 

Dost  thou  its  former  pride  recall. 
Or  ponder  how  it  passed  away?' 

'Know'st  thou  not  me?'  the  Deep  Voice  cried; 

'So  long  enjoyed,  so  oft  misused  — 
Alternate,  in  thy  fickle  pride. 
Desired,  neglected,  and  accused! 
221 


VERSES  FROM  THE  ANTIQUARY 

*  Before  my  breath,  like  blazing  flax, 

Man  and  his  marvels  pass  away! 

And  changing  empires  wane  and  wax, 

Are  founded,  flourish,  and  decay. 

*  Redeem  mine  hours  —  the  space  is  brief  — 

While  in  my  glass  the  sand-grains  shiver, 
And  measureless  thy  joy  or  grief, 

When  Time  and  thou  shalt  part  forever!' 


Ill 

EPITAPH 
From  Chapter  xi 

Heir  lyeth  John  o'  ye  Girnell, 
Erth  has  ye  nit  and  heuen  ye  kirnell. 
In  hys  tyme  ilk  wyfe's  hennis  clokit. 
Ilka  gud  mannis  berth  wi'  bairnis  was  stokit, 
He  deled  a  boll  o'  bear  in  firlottis  fyve, 
Four  for  ye  halie  kirke  and  ane  for  puir 
mennis  wyvis. 


222 


VERSES  FROM  THE  ANTIQUARY 

IV 

'the  herring  loves  the  merry  moonlight' 

From  Chapter  XL.  'As  the  Antiquary  lifted  the  latch  of  the  hut,  he  was 
surprised  to  hear  the  shrill,  tremulous  voice  of  Elspeth  chanting  forth  an  old 
ballad  in  a  wild  and  doleful  recitative:'  — 

The  herring  loves  the  merry  moonhght, 

The  mackerel  loves  the  wind, 
But  the  oyster  loves  the  dredging  sang, 

For  they  come  of  a  gentle  kind. 

Now  haud  your  tongue,  baith  wife  and  carle, 

And  listen,  great  and  sma*, 
And  I  will  sing  of  Glenallan's  Earl 

That  fought  on  the  red  Harlaw. 

The  cronach  's  cried  on  Bennachie, 

And  doun  the  Don  and  a', 
And  hieland  and  lawland  may  mournfu'  be 

For  the  sair  field  of  Harlaw.  — 

They  saddled  a  hundred  milk-white  steeds, 
They  hae  bridled  a  hundred  black, 

With  a  chafron  of  steel  on  each  horse's  head, 
And  a  good  knight  upon  his  back. 

They  hadna  ridden  a  mile,  a  mile, 
A  mile  but  barely  ten, 
223 


VERSES  FROM  THE  ANTIQUARY 

When  Donald  came  branking  down  the  brae 
Wi'  twenty  thousand  men. 

Their  tartans  they  were  waving  wide, 
Their  glaives  were  glancing  clear, 

The  pibrochs  rung  frae  side  to  side, 
Would  deafen  ye  to  hear. 

The  great  Earl  in  his  stirrups  stood, 

That  Highland  host  to  see: 
*  Now  here  a  knight  that 's  stout  and  good 

May  prove  a  jeopardie. 

'What  wouldst  thou  do,  my  squire  so  gay, 
That  rides  beside  my  reyne,  — 

Were  ye  Glenallan's  Earl  the  day, 
And  I  were  Roland  Cheyne? 

*To  turn  the  rein  were  sin  and  shame, 
To  fight  were  wond'rous  peril,  — 

What  would  ye  do  now,  Roland  Cheyne, 
Were  ye  Glenallan's  Earl?'  — 

'Were  I  Glenallan's  Earl  this  tide. 

And  ye  were  Roland  Cheyne, 
The  spur  should  be  in  my  horse's  side. 

And  the  bridle  upon  his  mane. 
224 


VERSES  FROM  THE  ANTIQUARY 

'If  they  hae  twenty  thousand  blades, 

And  we  twice  ten  times  ten, 
Yet  they  hae  but  their  tartan  plaids, 

And  we  are  mail-clad  men. 

*My  horse  shall  ride  through  ranks  sae  rude 
As  through  the  moorland  fern,  — 

Then  ne'er  let  the  gentle  Norman  blude 
Grow  cauld  for  Highland  kerne.' 


He  turned  him  right  and  round  again, 
Said,  'Scorn  na  at  my  mither; 

Light  loves  I  may  get  mony  a  ane, 
But  minnie  ne'er  anither.' 


VERSES  FROM   OLD   MORTALITY 

Published  in  1816 

I 

*AND  WHAT  THOUGH  WINTER  WILL  PINCH  SEVERE' 
From  Chapter  xix 

And  what  though  winter  will  pinch  severe 
Through  locks  of  grey  and  a  cloak  that's  old? 

Yet  keep  up  thy  heart,  bold  cavalier, 
For  a  cup  of  sack  shall  fence  the  cold. 

For  time  will  rust  the  brightest  blade, 
And  years  will  break  the  strongest  bow; 

Was  ever  wight  so  starkly  made. 

But  time  and  years  would  overthrow? 


II 

VERSES  FOUND,  WITH  A  LOCK  OF  HAIR,  IN  BOTHWELL's 
POCKET-BOOK 

From  Chapter  xxin 

Thy  hue,  dear  pledge,  is  pure  and  bright 
As  in  that  well-remembered  night. 
When  first  thy  mystic  braid  was  wove, 
And  first  my  Agnes  whispered  love. 
226 


VERSES  FROM  OLD  MORTALITY 

Since  then  how  often  hast  thou  pressed 
The  torrid  zone  of  this  wild  breast, 
Whose  wrath  and  hate  have  sworn  to  dwell 
With  the  first  sin  which  peopled  hell ; 
A  breast  whose  blood  's  a  troubled  ocean, 
Each  throb  the  earthquake's  wild  commotion!  — 
Oh,  if  such  clime  thou  canst  endure, 
Yet  keep  thy  hue  unstained  and  pure, 
What  conquest  o'er  each  erring  thought 
Of  that  fierce  realm  had  Agnes  wrought! 
I  had  not  wandered  wild  and  wide. 
With  such  an  angel  for  my  guide; 
Nor  heaven  nor  earth  could  then  reprove  me, 
If  she  had  lived,  and  lived  to  love  me. 

Not  then  this  world's  wild  joys  had  been 
To  me  one  savage  hunting-scene, 
My  sole  delight  the  headlong  race, 
And  frantic  hurry  of  the  chase ; 
To  start,  pursue,  and  bring  to  bay, 
Rush  in,  drag  down  and  rend  my  prey, 
Then  —  from  the  carcase  turn  away ! 
Mine  ireful  mood  had  sweetness  tamed. 
And  soothed  each  wound  which  pride  inflamed ! 
Yes,  God  and  man  might  now  approve  me, 
If  thou  hadst  lived,  and  lived  to  love  me. 


227 


VERSES  FROM  OLD  MORTALITY 
III 

EPITAPH   ON   BALFOUR   OF   BURLEY 

From  Chapter  xliv.  'Gentle  reader,  I  did  request  of  mine  honest  friend 
Peter  Proudfoot,  travelling  merchant,  known  to  many  of  this  land  for  his  faith- 
ful and  just  dealings,  as  well  in  muslins  and  cambrics  as  in  small  wares,  to  pro- 
cure me,  on  his  next  peregrinations  to  that  vicinage,  a  copy  of  the  epitaphion 
alluded  to.  And,  according  to  his  report,  which  I  see  no  ground  to  discredit,  it 
runneth  thus:  — 

Here  lyes  ane  saint  to  prelates  surly, 
Being  John  Balfour,  sometime  of  Burley, 
Who,  stirred  up  to  vengeance  take. 
For  solemn  League  and  Cov'nant's  sake, 
Upon  the  Magus-Moor,  in  Fife, 
Did  tak'  James  Sharpe  the  apostate's  life; 
By  Dutchman's  hands  was  hacked  and  shot, 
Then  drowned  in  Clyde  near  this  saam  spot. 


THE  SEARCH   AFTER  HAPPINESS 

OR,   THE   QUEST   OF   SULTAUN   SOLIMAUN 

The  hint  of  the  following  tale  is  taken  from  La  Camiscia  Magica,  a  novel  of 
Giam  Battista  Casti. 

I 

O,  FOR  a  glance  of  that  gay  Muse's  eye 
That  lightened  on  Bandello's  laughing  tale, 
And  twinkled  with  a  lustre  shrewd  and  sly 
When  Giam  Battista  bade  her  vision  hail !  — 
Yet  fear  not,  ladies,  the  naive  detail 
Given  by  the  natives  of  that  land  canorous ; 
Italian  license  loves  to  leap  the  pale. 
We  Britons  have  the  fear  of  shame  before  us. 
And,  if  not  wise  in  mirth,  at  least  must  be  decorous. 

II 

In  the  far  eastern  clime,  no  great  while  since, 
Lived  Sultaun  Solimaun,  a  mighty  prince, 
Whose  eyes,  as  oft  as  they  performed  their  round, 
Beheld  all  others  fixed  upon  the  ground ; 
Whose  ears  received  the  same  unvaried  phrase, 
*  Sultaun !  thy  vassal  hears  and  he  obeys ! ' 
All  have  their  tastes  —  this  may  the  fancy  strike 
Of  such  grave  folks  as  pomp  and  grandeur  like; 
229 


THE  SEARCH  AFTER  HAPPINESS 

For  me,  I  love  the  honest  heart  and  warm 
Of  monarch  who  can  amble  round  his  farm, 
Or,  when  the  toil  of  state  no  more  annoys, 
In  chimney  corner  seek  domestic  joys  — 
1  love  a  prince  will  bid  the  bottle  pass, 
Exchanging  with  his  subjects  glance  and  glass; 
In  fitting  time  can,  gayest  of  the  gay. 
Keep  up  the  jest  and  mingle  in  the  lay  — 
Such  monarchs  best  our  free-born  humours  suit, 
But  despots  must  be  stately,  stern,  and  mute. 

Ill 

This  Solimaun  Serendib  had  in  sway  — 

And  where 's  Serendib?  may  some  critic  say.  — 

Good  lack,  mine  honest  friend,  consult  the  chart, 

Scare  not  my  Pegasus  before  I  start ! 

If  Rennell  has  it  not,  you  '11  find  mayhap 

The  isle  laid  down  in  Captain  Sinbad's  map  — 

Famed  mariner,  whose  merciless  narrations 

Drove  every  friend  and  kinsman  out  of  patience, 

Till,  fain  to  find  a  guest  who  thought  them  shorter. 

He  deigned  to  tell  them  over  to  a  porter  — 

The  last  edition  see,  by  Long  and  Co., 

Rees,  Hurst,  and  Orme,  our  fathers  in  the  Row. 


230 


THE   SEARCH  AFTER   HAPPINESS 

IV 

Serendib  found,  deem  not  my  tale  a  fiction  — 

This  Sultaun,  whether  lacking  contradiction  — 

A  sort  of  stimulant  which  hath  its  uses 

To  raise  the  spirits  and  reform  the  juices, 

Sovereign  specific  for  all  sorts  of  cures 

In  my  wife's  practice  and  perhaps  in  yours  — 

The  Sultaun  lacking  this  same  wholesome  bitter, 

Or  cordial  smooth  for  prince's  palate  fitter  — 

Or  if  some  Mollah  had  hag-rid  his  dreams 

With  Degial,  Ginnistan,  and  such  wild  themes 

Belonging  to  the  Mollah's  subtle  craft, 

I  wot  not  —  but  the  Sultaun  never  laughed, 

Scarce  ate  or  drank,  and  took  a  melancholy 

That  scorned  all  remedy  profane  or  holy; 

In  his  long  list  of  melancholies,  mad 

Or  mazed  or  dumb,  hath  Burton  none  so  bad. 

V 

Physicians  soon  arrived,  sage,  ware,  and  tried, 
As  e'er  scrawled  jargon  in  a  darkened  room ; 
With  heedful  glance  the  Sultaun's  tongue  they  ej^ed, 
Peeped  in  his  bath  and  God  knows  where  beside, 

And  then  in  solemn  accent  spoke  their  doom, 
'His  majesty  is  very  far  from  well.' 
Then  each  to  work  with  his  specific  fell: 
231 


THE   SEARCH  AFTER   HAPPINESS 

The  Hakim  Ibrahim  instanter  brought 

His  unguent  Mahazzim  al  Zerdukkaut, 

While  Roompot,  a  practitioner  more  wily, 

Relied  on  his  Munaskif  al  fillfily.^ 

More  and  yet  more  in  deep  array  appear, 

And  some  the  front  assail  and  some  the  rear; 

Their  remedies  to  reinforce  and  vary 

Came  surgeon  eke,  and  eke  apothecary; 

Till  the  tired  monarch,  though  of  words  grown  chary. 

Yet  dropt,  to  recompense  their  fruitless  labour, 

Some  hint  about  a  bowstring  or  a  sabre. 

There  lacked,  I  promise  you,  no  longer  speeches 

To  rid  the  palace  of  those  learned  leeches. 


VI 

Then  was  the  council  called  —  by  their  advice  — 
They  deemed  the  matter  ticklish  all  and  nice, 

And  sought  to  shift  it  off  from  their  own  shoulders  — 
Tartars  and  couriers  in  all  speed  were  sent, 
To  call  a  sort  of  Eastern  Parliament 

Of  feudatory  chieftains  and  freeholders  — 
Such  have  the  Persians  at  this  very  day. 
My  gallant  Malcolm  calls  them  couroultai;  —  ^ 
I  'm  not  prepared  to  show  in  this  slight  song 

'  For  these  hard   words  see  D'Herbelot,  or  the  learned  editor  of  the  Recipes  of 
Avicenna. 
«  See  Sir  John  Malcolm's  admirable  History  of  Persia. 

232 


THE   SEARCH   AFTER   HAPPINESS 

That  to  Serendib  the  same  forms  belong  — 

E'en  let  the  learned  go  search,  and  tell  me  if  I  'm  wrong. 


VII 

The  Omrahs,  each  with  hand  on  scimitar, 

Gave,  Hke  Sempronius,  still  their  voice  for  war  — 

'The  sabre  of  the  Sultaun  in  its  sheath 

Too  long  has  slept  nor  owned  the  work  of  death ; 

Let  the  Tambourgi  bid  his  signal  rattle, 

Bang  the  loud  gong  and  raise  the  shout  of  battle! 

This  dreary  cloud  that  dims  our  sovereign's  day 

Shall  from  his  kindled  bosom  flit  away. 

When  the  bold  Lootie  wheels  his  courser  round 

And  the  armed  elephant  shall  shake  the  ground. 

Each  noble  pants  to  own  the  glorious  summons  — 

And  for  the  charges  —  Lo!  your  faithful  Commons!' 

The  Riots  who  attended  in  their  places  — 

Serendib  language  calls  a  farmer  Riot  — 
Looked  ruefully  in  one  another's  faces. 

From  this  oration  auguring  much  disquiet, 
Double  assessment,  forage,  and  free  quarters; 
And  fearing  these  as  Chinamen  the  Tartars, 
Or  as  the  whiskered  vermin  fear  the  mousers, 
Each  fumbled  in  the  pocket  of  his  trousers. 


233 


\THE   SEARCH  AFTER  HAPPINESS 

VIII 

And  next  came  forth  the  reverend  Convocation, 

Bald  heads,  white  beards,  and  many  a  turban  green, 
I  maun  and  Mollah  there  of  every  station, 

Santon,  Fakir,  and  Calendar  were  seen. 
Their  votes  were  various  —  some  advised  a  mosque 

With  fitting  revenues  should  be  erected, 
With  seemly  gardens  and  with  gay  kiosque. 

To  recreate  a  band  of  priests  selected ; 
Others  opined  that  through  the  realms  a  dole 

Be  made  to  holy  men,  whose  prayers  might  profit 
The  Sultaun's  weal  in  body  and  in  soul. 

But  their  long-headed  chief,  the  Sheik  Ul-Sofit, 
More  closely  touched  the  point;  —  'Thy  studious  mood,' 
Quoth  he,  'O  Prince!  hath  thickened  all  thy  blood, 
And  dulled  thy  brain  with  labour  beyond  measure; 
Wherefore  relax  a  space  and  take  thy  pleasure. 
And  toy  with  beauty  or  tell  o'er  thy  treasure; 
From  all  the  cares  of  state,  my  liege,  enlarge  thee, 
And  leave  the  burden  to  thy  faithful  clergy.' 

IX 

These  counsels  sage  availed  not  a  whit. 
And  so  the  patient  —  as  is  not  uncommon 

Where  grave  physicians  lose  their  time  and  wit  — 
Resolved  to  take  advice  of  an  old  woman ; 
234 


THE   SEARCH  AFTER   HAPPINESS 

His  mother  she,  a  dame  who  once  was  beauteous, 
And  still  was  called  so  by  each  subject  duteous. 
Now,  whether  Fatima  was  witch  in  earnest, 

Or  only  made  believe,  I  cannot  say  — 
But  she  professed  to  cure  disease  the  sternest, 

By  dint  of  magic  amulet  or  lay; 
And,  when  all  other  skill  in  vain  was  shown, 
She  deemed  it  fitting  time  to  use  her  own. 


X 

*  Sympathia  magica  hath  wonders  done*  — 
Thus  did  old  Fatima  bespeak  her  son  — 

*  It  works  upon  the  fibres  and  the  pores, 
And  thus  insensibly  our  health  restores. 

And  it  must  help  us  here.  —  Thou  must  endure 
The  ill,  my  son,  or  travel  for  the  cure. 
Search  land  and  sea,  and  get  where'er  you  can 
The  inmost  vesture  of  a  happy  man, 
I  mean  his  shirt,  my  son;  which,  taken  warm 
And  fresh  from  off  his  back,  shall  chase  your  harm, 
Bid  every  current  of  your  veins  rejoice, 
And  your  dull  heart  leap  light  as  shepherd-boy's.* 
Such  was  the  counsel  from  his  mother  came;  — 
I  know  not  if  she  had  some  under-game. 
As  doctors  have,  who  bid  their  patients  roam 
And  live  abroad  when  sure  to  die  at  home, 

235 


THE   SEARCH   AFTER   HAPPINESS 

Or  if  she  thought  that,  somehow  or  another, 
Queen- Regent  sounded  better  than  Queen-Mother; 
But,  says  the  Chronicle  —  who  will  go  look  it  — 
That  such  was  her  advice  —  the  Sultaun  took  it. 


XI 

All  are  on  board  —  the  Sultaun  and  his  train, 
In  gilded  galley  prompt  to  plough  the  main. 

The  old  Rais  was  the  first  who  questioned,  'Whither?' 
They  paused  —  'Arabia,'  thought  the  pensive  prince, 
'Was  called  The  Happy  many  ages  since  — 

For  Mokha,  Rais.'  —  And  they  came  safely  thither. 
But  not  in  Araby  with  all  her  balm, 
Not  where  Judea  weeps  beneath  her  palm, 
Nor  in  rich  Egypt,  not  in  Nubian  waste. 
Could  there  the  step  of  happiness  be  traced. 
One  Copt  alone  professed  to  have  seen  her  smile, 
When  Bruce  his  goblet  filled  at  infant  Nile : 
She  blessed  the  dauntless  traveller  as  he  quaffed, 
But  vanished  from  him  with  the  ended  draught. 

XII 

'  Enough  of  turbans,'  said  the  weary  King, 
'These  dolimans  of  ours  are  not  the  thing; 
Try  we  the  Giaours,  these  men  of  coat  and  cap,  I 
Incline  to  think  some  of  them  must  be  happy; 

236 


THE   SEARCH   AFTER   HAPPINESS 

At  least,  they  have  as  fair  a  cause  as  any  can, 
They  drink  good  wine  and  keep  no  Ramazan, 
Then  northward,  ho!'  — The  vessel  cuts  the  sea, 
And  fair  Italia  lies  upon  her  lee.  — 
But  fair  Italia,  she  who  once  unfurled 
Her  eagle-banners  o'er  a  conquered  world, 
Long  from  her  throne  of  domination  tumbled ; 
Lay  by  her  quondam  vassals  sorely  humbled, 
The  pope  himself  looked  pensive,  pale,  and  lean, 
And  was  not  half  the  man  he  once  had  been. 
'While  these  the  priest  and  those  the  noble  fleeces, 
Our  poor  old  boot,'^  they  said,  'is  torn  to  pieces. 
Its  tops  2  the  vengeful  claws  of  Austria  feel. 
And  the  Great  Devil  is  rending  toe  and  heel.' 
If  happiness  you  seek,  to  tell  you  truly, 
We  think  she  dwells  with  one  Giovanni  Bulli; 
A  tramontane,  a  heretic  —  the  buck, 
Poffaredio!  still  has  all  the  luck; 
By  land  or  ocean  never  strikes  his  flag  — 
And  then  —  a  perfect  walking  money-bag.' 
Off  set  our  prince  to  seek  John  Bull's  abode, 
But  first  took  France  —  it  lay  upon  the  road. 

•  The  well-known  resemblance  of  Italy  in  the  map. 

•  Florence,  Venice,  etc. 

'  The  Calabrias,  infested  by  bands  of  assassins.    One  of  the  leaders  was  called 
Fra  Diavolo;  i.e.,  Brother  Devil. 


237 


THE  SEARCH  AFTER   HAPPINESS 

XIII 

Monsieur  Baboon  after  much  late  commotion 

Was  agitated  like  a  settling  ocean, 

Quite  out  of  sorts  and  could  not  tell  what  ailed  him, 

Only  the  glory  of  his  house  had  failed  him ; 

Besides,  some  tumors  on  his  noddle  biding 

Gave  indication  of  a  recent  hiding.^ 

Our  prince,  though  Sultauns  of  such  things  are  heedless, 

Thought  it  a  thing  indelicate  and  needless 

To  ask  if  at  that  moment  he  was  happy. 
And  Monsieur,  seeing  that  he  was  comme  il  faut,  a 
Loud  voice  mustered  up,  for  '  Vive  le  Roi  /' 

Then  whispered,  "Ave  you  any  news  of  Nappy?' 
The  Sultaun  answered  him  with  a  cross  question,  — 

'Pray,  can  you  tell  me  aught  of  one  John  Bull, 

That  dwells  somewhere  beyond  your  herring-pool?* 
The  query  seemed  of  difficult  digestion. 
The  party  shrugged  and  grinned  and  took  his  snuff, 
And  found  his  whole  good-breeding  scarce  enough. 

XIV 

Twitching  his  visage  into  as  many  puckers 
As  damsels  wont  to  put  into  their  tuckers  — 
Ere  liberal  Fashion  damned  both  lace  and  lawn, 
And  bade  the  veil  of  modesty  be  drawn  — 

•  Or  drubbing;  so  called  in  the  Slang  Dictionary. 
238 


THE   SEARCH   AFTER   HAPPINESS 

Replied  the  Frenchman  after  a  brief  pause, 
'Jean  Bool !  —  I  vas  not  know  him  —  Yes,  I  vas  — 
I  vas  remember  dat,  von  year  or  two, 
I  saw  him  at  von  place  called  Vaterloo  — 
Ma  foi!  il  s'est  tres  joliment  battu, 
Dat  is  for  Englishmen,  —  m'entendezvous? 
But  den  he  had  wit  him  one  damn  son-gun, 
Rogue  I  no  like  —  dey  call  him  Vellington.* 
Monsieur's  politeness  could  not  hide  his  fret, 
So  Solimaun  took  leave  and  crossed  the  strait. 

XV 

John  Bull  was  in  his  very  worst  of  moods, 
Raving  of  sterile  farms  and  unsold  goods; 
His  sugar-loaves  and  bales  about  he  threw, 
And  on  his  counter  beat  the  devil's  tattoo. 
His  wars  were  ended  and  the  victory  won. 
But  then  't  was  reckoning-day  with  honest  John; 
And  authors  vouch,  't  was  still  this  worthy's  way, 
'Never  to  grumble,  till  he  came  to  pay; 
And  then  he  always  thinks,  his  temper's  such, 
The  work  too  little  and  the  pay  too  much.'  ^ 

Yet,  grumbler  as  he  is,  so  kind  and  hearty 
That  when  his  mortal  foe  was  on  the  floor. 
And  past  the  power  to  harm  his  quiet  more. 

Poor  John  had  wellnigh  wept  for  Bonaparte! 

'  See  the  True-Born  Englishman,  by  Daniel  DeFoe. 


THE  SEARCH  AFTER   HAPPINESS 

Such  was  the  wight  whom  Solimaun  salamed,  — 
*And  who  are  you,'  John  answered,  'and  be  d — d?* 

XVI 

*A  stranger,  come  to  see  the  happiest  man  — 
So,  signior,  all  avouch  —  in  Frangistan.'  ^ 

'Happy?  my  tenants  breaking  on  my  hand; 
Unstocked  my  pastures  and  untilled  my  land ; 
Sugar  and  rum  a  drug,  and  mice  and  moths 
The  sole  consumers  of  my  good  broadcloths  — 
Happy?  —  Why,  cursed  war  and  racking  tax 
Have  left  us  scarcely  raiment  to  our  backs.' 

*  In  that  case,  signior,  I  may  take  my  leave ; 
I  came  to  ask  a  favour  —  but  I  grieve '  — 

'Favour?'  said  John,  and  eyed  the  Sultaun  hard, 

*  It 's  my  belief  you  came  to  break  the  yard !  — 
But,  stay,  you  look  like  some  poor  foreign  sinner  — 
Take  that  to  buy  yourself  a  shirt  and  dinner.' 
With  that  he  chucked  a  guinea  at  his  head ; 

But  with  due  dignity  the  Sultaun  said, 

*  Permit  me,  sir,  your  bounty  to  decline  ; 
A  shirt  indeed  I  seek,  but  none  of  thine. 
Signior,  I  kiss  your  hand-s,  so  fare  you  well.' 

'Kiss  and  be  d — d,'  quoth  John,  'and  go  to  hell!* 

»  Europe. 


240 


THE  SEARCH  AFTER   HAPPINESS 

XVII 

Next  door  to  John  there  dwelt  his  sister  Peg, 
Once  a  wild  lass  as  ever  shook  a  leg 
When  the  blithe  bagpipe  blew  —  but,  soberer  now, 
She  doucely  span  her  flax  and  milked  her  cow. 
And  whereas  erst  she  was  a  needy  slattern, 
Nor  now  of  wealth  or  cleanliness  a  pattern. 
Yet  once  a  month  her  house  was  partly  swept, 
And  once  a  week  a  plenteous  board  she  kept. 
And  whereas,  eke,  the  vixen  used  her  claws 

And  teeth  of  yore  on  slender  provocation, 
She  now  was  grown  amenable  to  laws, 

A  quiet  soul  as  any  in  the  nation ; 
The  sole  remembrance  of  her  warlike  joys 
Was  in  old  songs  she  sang  to  please  her  boys. 
John  Bull,  whom  in  their  years  of  early  strife 
She  wont  to  lead  a  cat-and-doggish  life. 
Now  found  the  woman,  as  he  said,  a  neighbour, 
Who  looked  to  the  main  chance,  declined  no  labour. 
Loved  a  long  grace  and  spoke  a  northern  jargon. 
And  was  d d  close  in  making  of  a  bargain. 


50  241 


THE   SEARCH  AFTER  HAPPINESS 

XVIII 

The  Sultaun  entered,  and  he  made  his  leg, 
And  with  decorum  curtsied  sister  Peg  — 
She  loved  a  book,  and  knew  a  thing  or  two, 
And  guessed  at  once  with  whom  she  had  to  do. 
She  bade  him  'Sit  into  the  fire,'  and  took 
Her  dram,  her  cake,  her  kebbuck  from  the  nook; 
Asked  him  'about  the  news  from  Eastern  parts; 
And  of  her  absent  bairns,  puir  Highland  hearts ! 
If  peace  brought  down  the  price  of  tea  and  pepper, 
And  if  the  nitmugs  were  grown  ony  cheaper;  — 
Were  there  nae  speerings  of  our  Mungo  Park  — 
Ye '11  be  the  gentleman  that  wants  the  sark? 
If  ye  wad  buy  a  web  o'  auld  wife's  spinning, 
I  '11  warrant  ye  it 's  a  weel-wearing  linen.' 


XIX 

Then  up  got  Peg  and  round  the  house  'gan  scuttle 

In  search  of  goods  her  customer  to  nail, 
Until  the  Sultaun  strained  his  princely  throttle, 
And  holloed,  'Ma'am,  that  is  not  what  I  ail. 
Pray,  are  you  happy,  ma'am,  in  this  snug  glen?' 
'Happy?'  said  Peg;  'What  for  d'ye  want  to  ken? 
Besides,  just  think  upon  this  by-gane  year. 
Grain  wadna  pay  the  yoking  of  the  pleugh.* 
242 


THE   SEARCH  AFTER   HAPPINESS 

'What  say  you  to  the  present?'  —  'Meal's  sae  dear, 

To  make  their  brose  my  bairns  have  scarce  aneugh.* 
'The  devil  take  the  shirt,'  said  Solimaun, 
'I  think  my  quest  will  end  as  it  began.  — 
Farewell,  ma'am;  nay,  no  ceremony,  I  beg'  — 
'Ye '11  no  be  for  the  linen  then?'  said  Peg. 


XX 

Now,  for  the  land  of  verdant  Erin 

The  Sultaun's  royal  bark  is  steering. 

The  Emerald  Isle  where  honest  Paddy  dwells, 

The  cousin  of  John  Bull,  as  story  tells. 

For  a  long  space  had  John,  with  words  of  thunder, 

Hard  looks,  and  harder  knocks,  kept  Paddy  under, 

Till  the  poor  lad,  like  boy  that's  flogged  unduly, 

Had  gotten  somewhat  restive  and  unruly. 

Hard  was  his  lot  and  lodging,  you  '11  allow, 

A  wigwam  that  would  hardly  serve  a  sow ; 

His  landlord,  and  of  middle-men  two  brace. 

Had  screwed  his  rent  up  to  the  starving-place; 

His  garment  was  a  top-coat  and  an  old  one, 

His  meal  was  a  potato  and  a  cold  one ; 

But  still  for  fun  or  frolic  and  all  that, 

In  the  round  world  was  not  the  match  of  Pat. 


243 


THE  SEARCH  AFTER  HAPPINESS 

XXI 

The  Sultaun  saw  him  on  a  holiday, 

Which  is  with  Paddy  still  a  jolly  day: 

When  mass  is  ended,  and  his  load  of  sins 

Confessed,  and  Mother  Church  hath  from  her  binns 

Dealt  forth  a  bonus  of  imputed  merit, 

Then  is  Pat's  time  for  fancy,  whim,  and  spirit! 

To  jest,  to  sing,  to  caper  fair  and  free, 

And  dance  as  light  as  leaf  upon  the  tree. 

*By  Mahomet,'  said  Sultaun  Solimaun, 

*  That  ragged  fellow  is  our  very  man ! 
Rush  in  and  seize  him  —  do  not  do  him  hurt. 
But,  will  he  nill  he,  let  me  have  his  shirt.' 

XXII 

Shilela  their  plan  was  wellnigh  after  balking  — 
Much  less  provocation  will  set  it  a-walking  — 
But  the  odds  that  foiled  Hercules  foiled  Paddy  Whack 
They  seized,  and  they  floored,  and  they  stripped  him  — 

Alack! 
Up-bubboo !  Paddy  had  not  —  a  shirt  to  his  back ! 
And  the  king,  disappointed,  with  sorrow  and  shame 
Went  back  to  Serendib  as  sad  as  he  came. 


LINES 

WRITTEN  FOR  MISS   SMITH 
1817 

When  the  lone  pilgrim  views  afar 
The  shrine  that  is  his  guiding  star, 
With  awe  his  footsteps  print  the  road 
Which  the  loved  saint  of  yore  has  trod. 
As  near  he  draws  and  yet  more  near, 
His  dim  eye  sparkles  with  a  tear ; 
The  Gothic  fane's  unwonted  show, 
The  choral  hymn,  the  tapers'  glow, 
Oppress  his  soul ;  while  they  delight 
And  chasten  rapture  with  affright. 
No  longer  dare  he  think  his  toil 
Can  merit  aught  his  patron's  smile; 
Too  light  appears  the  distant  way, 
The  chilly  eve,  the  sultry  day  — 
All  these  endured  no  favour  claim, 
But  murmuring  forth  the  sainted  name, 
He  lays  his  little  offering  down. 
And  only  deprecates  a  frown. 

We  too  who  ply  the  Thespian  art 
Oft  feel  such  bodings  of  the  heart, 

245 


LINES  WRITTEN  FOR  MISS  SMITH 

And  when  our  utmost  powers  are  strained 
Dare  hardly  hope  your  favour  gained. 
She  who  from  sister  climes  has  sought 
The  ancient  land  where  Wallace  fought  — 
Land  long  renowned  for  arms  and  arts, 
And  conquering  eyes  and  dauntless  hearts  - 
She,  as  the  flutterings  here  avow, 
Feels  all  the  pilgrim's  terrors  now; 
Yet  sure  on  Caledonian  plain 
The  stranger  never  sued  in  vain. 
*T  is  yours  the  hospitable  task 
To  give  the  applause  she  dare  not  ask; 
And  they  who  bid  the  pilgrim  speed, 
The  pilgrim's  blessing  be  their  meed. 


MR.   KEMBLE'S   FAREWELL  ADDRESS 

ON   TAKING  LEAVE    OF   THE   EDINBURGH   STAGE 
I817 

As  the  worn  war-horse,  at  the  trumpet's  sound, 

Erects  his  mane,  and  neighs,  and  paws  the  ground  — 

Disdains  the  ease  his  generous  lord  assigns, 

And  longs  to  rush  on  the  embattled  lines, 

So  I,  your  plaudits  ringing  on  mine  ear, 

Can  scarce  sustain  to  think  our  parting  near; 

To  think  my  scenic  hour  forever  past. 

And  that  those  valued  plaudits  are  my  last. 

Why  should  we  part,  while  still  some  powers  remain. 

That  in  your  service  strive  not  yet  in  vain? 

Cannot  high  zeal  the  strength  of  youth  supply. 

And  sense  of  duty  fire  the  fading  eye ; 

And  all  the  wrongs  of  age  remain  subdued 

Beneath  the  burning  glow  of  gratitude? 

Ah,  no!  the  taper,  wearing  to  its  close, 

Oft  for  a  space  in  fitful  lustre  glows; 

But  all  too  soon  the  transient  gleam  is  past. 

It  cannot  be  renewed,  and  will  not  last; 

Even  duty,  zeal,  and  gratitude  can  wage 

But  short-lived  conflict  with  the  frosts  of  age. 

Yes!   It  were  poor,  remembering  what  I  was. 

To  live  a  pensioner  on  your  applause, 

247 


MR.  KEMBLE'S  FAREWELL  ADDRESS 

To  drain  the  dregs  of  your  endurance  dry, 
And  take,  as  alms,  the  praise  I  once  could  buy; 
Till  every  sneering  youth  around  enquires, 
'Is  this  the  man  who  once  could  please  our  sires?* 
And  scorn  assumes  compassion's  doubtful  mien, 
To  warn  me  off  from  the  encumbered  scene. 
This  must  not  be ;  —  and  higher  duties  crave 
Some  space  between  the  theatre  and  the  grave. 
That,  like  the  Roman  in  the  Capitol, 
I  may  adjust  my  mantle  ere  I  fall: 
My  life's  brief  act  in  public  service  flown, 
The  last,  the  closing  scene,  must  be  my  own. 

Here,  then,  adieu !  while  yet  some  well-graced  parts 
May  fix  an  ancient  favourite  in  your  hearts, 
Not  quite  to  be  forgotten,  even  when 
You  look  on  better  actors,  younger  men : 
And  if  your  bosoms  own  this  kindly  debt 
Of  old  remembrance,  how  shall  mine  forget  — 
O,  how  forget !  —  how  oft  I  hither  came 
In  anxious  hope,  how  oft  returned  with  fame! 
How  oft  around  your  circle  this  weak  hand 
Has  waved  immortal  Shakespeare's  magic  wand, 
Till  the  full  burst  of  inspiration  came. 
And  I  have  felt,  and  you  have  fanned  the  flame! 
By  mem'ry  treasured,  while  her  reign  endures. 
Those  hours  must  live  —  and  all  their  charms  are  yours. 

248 


MR.  KEMBLE'S  FAREWELL  ADDRESS 

O  favoured  Land !  renowned  for  arts  and  arms, 
For  manly  talent,  and  for  female  charms, 
Could  this  full  bosom  prompt  the  sinking  line,  i 
What  fervent  benedictions  now  were  thine! 
But  my  last  part  is  played,  my  knell  is  rung, 
When  e'en  your  praise  falls  faltering  from  my  tongue; 
And  all  that  you  can  hear,  or  I  can  tell. 
Is  —  Friends  and  Patrons,  hail,  and  fare  you  well. 


THE  SUN   UPON  THE  WEIRDLAW   HILL 

Air  —  'Rimhin  aluin  'stu  mo  run' 

1822 

The  air  composed  by  the  Editor  of  Albyn's  Anthology.  The  words  written  for 
Mr.  George  Thomsoa's  Scottish  Melodies. 

The  sun  upon  the  Weirdlaw  Hill 

In  Ettrick's  vale  is  sinking  sweet; 
The  westland  wind  is  hush  and  still, 

The  lake  lies  sleeping  at  my  feet. 
Yet  not  the  landscape  to  mine  eye 

Bears  those  bright  hues  that  once  it  bore, 
Though  evening  with  her  richest  dye 

Flames  o'er  the  hills  of  Ettrick's  shore. 

With  listless  look  along  the  plain 

I  see  Tweed's  silver  current  glide. 
And  coldly  mark  the  holy  fane 

Of  Melrose  rise  in  ruined  pride. 
The  quiet  lake,  the  balmy  air. 

The  hill,  the  stream,  the  tower,  the  tree  — 
Are  they  still  such  as  once  they  were, 

Or  is  the  dreary  change  in  me? 

Alas!  the  warped  and  broken  board. 
How  can  it  bear  the  painter's  dye? 

250 


THE  SUN  UPON  THE  WEIRDLAW  HH^L 

The  harp  of  strained  and  tuneless  chord, 
How  to  the  minstrel's  skill  reply? 

To  aching  eyes  each  landscape  lowers, 
To  feverish  pulse  each  gale  blows  chill; 

And  Araby's  or  Eden's  bowers 
Were  barren  as  this  moorland  hill. 


SONG   FROM    ROB   ROY 

Published  in  1817 
TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  EDWARD  THE  BLACK  PRINCE 

O  FOR  the  voice  of  that  wild  horn, 
On  Fontarabian  echoes  borne, 

The  dying  hero's  call, 
That  told  imperial  Charlemagne 
How  Paynim  sons  of  swarthy  Spain 

Had  wrought  his  champion's  fall. 

Sad  over  earth  and  ocean  sounding, 
And  England's  distant  cliffs  astounding. 

Such  are  the  notes  should  say 
How  Britain's  hope  and  France's  fear, 
Victor  of  Cressy  and  Poitier, 
In  Bourdeaux  dying  lay. 

'Raise  my  faint  head,  my  squires,*  he  said, 
'And  let  the  casement  be  displayed, 

That  I  may  see  once  more 
The  splendour  of  the  setting  sun 
Gleam  on  thy  mirror'd  wave,  Garonne, 
And  Blaye's  empurpled  shore. 
252 


SONG  FROM  ROB  ROY 

'Like  me,  he  sinks  to  Glory's  sleep, 
His  fall  the  dews  of  evening  steep, 

As  if  in  sorrow  shed. 
So  soft  shall  fall  the  trickling  tear, 
When  England's  maids  and  matrons  hear 

Of  their  Black  Edward  dead. 


'And  though  my  sun  of  glory  set, 
Nor  France  nor  England  shall  forget 

The  terror  of  my  name ; 
And  oft  shall  Britain's  heroes  rise. 
New  planets  in  these  southern  skies. 

Through  clouds  of  blood  and  flame.* 


THE  MONKS  OF  BANGOR'S  MARCH 

Air  — '  Ymdaith  Mionge* 

Written  for  Mr.  George  Thomson's  Welsh  Melodies,  in  1817. 

Ethelfrid,  or  Olfrid,  King  of  Northumberland,  having  besieged  Chester  in 
613,  and  Broclimael,  a  British  Prince,  advancing  to  relieve  it,  the  religious  of 
the  neighbouring  Monastery  of  Bangor  marched  in  procession,  to  pray  for  the 
success  of  their  countrymen.  But  the  British  being  totally  defeated,  the  heathen 
victor  put  the  monks  to  the  sword,  and  destroyed  their  monastery.  The  tune 
to  which  these  verses  are  adapted  is  called  the  Monks'  March,  and  is  supposed 
to  have  been  played  at  their  ill-omened  procession. 

When  the  heathen  trumpet's  clang 
Round  beleaguered  Chester  rang, 
Veiled  nun  and  friar  grey 
Marched  from  Bangor's  fair  Abbaye ; 
High  their  holy  anthem  sounds, 
Cestria's  vale  the  hymn  rebounds, 
Floating  down  the  sylvan  Dee, 

0  miserere,  Dominet 

On  the  long  procession  goes, 
Glory  round  their  crosses  glows, 
And  the  Virgin-mother  mild 
In  their  peaceful  banner  smiled; 
Who  could  think  such  saintly  band 
Doomed  to  feel  unhallowed  hand? 
Such  was  the  Divine  decree, 

O  miserere,  Domine! 

254 


THE  MONKS  OF  BANGOR'S  MARCH 

Bands  that  masses  only  sung, 
Hands  that  censers  only  swung, 
Met  the  northern  bow  and  bill, 
Heard  the  war-cry  wild  and  shrill : 
Woe  to  Brockmael's  feeble  hand. 
Woe  to  Olfrid's  bloody  brand, 
Woe  to  Saxon  cruelty, 

0  miserere,  Dominel 

Weltering  amid  warriors  slain. 
Spurned  by  steeds  with  bloody  mane, 
Slaughtered  down  by  heathen  blade, 
Bangor's  peaceful  monks  are  laid : 
Word  of  parting  rest  unspoke. 
Mass  unsung  and  bread  unbroke; 
For  their  souls  for  charity, 

Sing,  0  miserere,  Dominel 

Bangor!  o'er  the  murder  wail! 
Long  thy  ruins  told  the  tale, 
Shattered  towers  and  broken  arch 
Long  recalled  the  wof  ul  march : 
On  thy  shrine  no  tapers  burn, 
Never  shall  thy  priests  return ; 
The  pilgrim  sighs  and  sings  for  thee, 
0  miserere,  Dominel 


EPILOGUE  TO   'THE  APPEAL* 

1818 

A  CAT  of  yore  —  or  else  old  JEsop  lied  — 

Was  changed  into  a  fair  and  blooming  bride, 

But  spied  a  mouse  upon  her  marriage-day, 

Forgot  her  spouse,  and  seized  upon  her  prey; 

Even  thus  my  bridegroom  lawyer,  as  you  saw, 

Threw  off  poor  me  and  pounced  upon  papa. 

His  neck  from  Hymen's  mystic  knot  made  loose, 

He  twisted  round  my  sire's  the  literal  noose. 

Such  are  the  fruits  of  our  dramatic  labour 

Since  the  New  Jail  became  our  next-door  neighbour.* 

Yes,  times  are  changed ;  for  in  your  father's  age 
The  lawyers  were  the  patrons  of  the  stage; 
However  high  advanced  by  future  fate. 
There  stands  the  bench   [points  to  the  Pit]  that  first 

received  their  weight. 
The  future  legal  sage  't  was  ours  to  see 
Doom  though  unwigged  and  plead  without  a  fee. 

But  now,  astounding  each  poor  mimic  elf, 
Instead  of  lawyers  comes  the  law  herself; 

•  See  Note  19. 
256 


EPILOGUE  TO   'THE  APPEAL' 

Tremendous  neighbour,  on  our  right  she  dwells, 

Builds  high  her  towers  and  excavates  her  cells; 

While  on  the  left  she  agitates  the  town 

With  the  tempestuous  question,  Up  or  down?* 

'Twixt  Scylla  and  Charybdis  thus  stand  we, 

Law's  final  end  and  law's  uncertainty. 

But,  soft!  who  lives  at  Rome  the  Pope  must  flatter, 

And  jails  and  lawsuits  are  no  jesting  matter. 

Then  —  just  farewell!  We  wait  with  serious  awe 

Till  your  applause  or  censure  gives  the  law. 

Trusting  our  humble  efforts  may  assure  ye, 

We  hold  you  Court  and  Counsel,  Judge  and  Jury. 

'  See  Note  20. 
60 


MACKRIMMON'S  LAMENT 

Air  —  'Cka  till  mi  tuille' 

1818 

Mackrimmon,  hereditary  piper  to  the  Laird  of  Macleod,  is  said  to  have  com- 
posed this  Lament  when  the  Clan  was  about  to  depart  upon  a  distant  and  dan- 
gerous expedition.  The  Minstrel  was  impressed  with  a  beHef,  which  the  event 
verified,  that  he  was  to  be  slain  in  the  approaching  feud;  and  hence  the  Gaelic 
words,  'Cha  till  mi  tuille;  gea  thilHs  Macleod,  cha  till  Mackrimmon,'  'I  shall 
never  return;  although  Macleod  returns,  yet  Mackrimmon  shall  never  return!' 
The  piece  is  but  too  well  known,  from  its  being  the  strain  with  which  the 
emigrants  from  the  West  Highlands  and  Isles  usually  take  leave  of  their  native 
shore. 

MacLeod's  wizard  flag  from  the  grey  castle  sallies, 
The  rowers  are  seated,  unmoored  are  the  galleys; 
Gleam  war-axe  and  broadsword,  clang  target  and  quiver, 
As  Mackrimmon  sings,  'Farewell  to  Dunvegan  forever! 
Farewell  to  each  cliff  on  which  breakers  are  foaming; 
Farewell,  each  dark  glen  in  which  red-deer  are  roaming; 
Farewell,  lonely  Skye,  to  lake,  mountain,  and  river; 
Macleod  may  return,  but  Mackrimmon  shall  never! 

'Farewell  the  bright  clouds  that  on  Quillan  are  sleeping; 
Farewell  the  bright  eyes  in  the  Dun  that  are  weeping; 
To  each  minstrel  delusion,  farewell !  —  and  forever  — 
Mackrimmon  departs,  to  return  to  you  never! 
The  Banshee's  wild  voice  sings  the  death-dirge  before 

me, 
The  pall  of  the  dead  for  a  mantle  hangs  o'er  me; 

258 


MACKRIMMON'S  LAMENT 

But  my  heart  shall  not  flag  and  my  nerves  shall  not 

shiver, 
Though  devoted  I  go  —  to  return  again  never ! 

'Too  oft  shall  the  notes  of  Mackrimmon's  bewailing 
Be  heard  when  the  Gael  on  their  exile  are  sailing; 
Dear  land !  to  the  shores  whence  unwilling  we  sever 
Return  —  return  —  return  shall  we  never ! 

Cha  till,  cha  till,  cha  till  sin  tuille, 

Cha  till,  cha  till,  cha  till  sin  tuille, 

Cha  till,  cha  till,  cha  till  sin  tuille, 
Gea  thillis  Macleod,  cha  till  Mackrimmon!' 


DONALD   CAIRD'S  COME  AGAIN 

Air  —  'Malcolm  Caird's  come  again^ 

1818 

CHORUS 

Donald  Caird  's  come  again ! 
Donald  Caird's  come  again! 
Tell  the  news  in  brugh  and  glen, 
Donald  Caird's  come  again! 

Donald  Caird  can  lilt  and  sing, 
Blithely  dance  the  Hieland  fling. 
Drink  till  the  gudeman  be  blind, 
Fleech  till  the  gudewife  be  kind ; 
Hoop  a  leglin,  clout  a  pan, 
Or  crack  a  pow  wi'  ony  man; 
Tell  the  news  in  brugh  and  glen, 
Donald  Caird 's  come  again. 

Donald  Caird 's  come  again ! 

Donald  Caird 's  come  again ! 

Tell  the  news  in  brugh  and  glen, 

Donald  Caird 's  come  again. 

Donald  Caird  can  wire  a  maukin, 
Kens  the  wiles  o'  dun-deer  staukin', 
260 


DONALD  CAIRD'S  COME  AGAIN 

Leisters  kipper,  makes  a  shift 

To  shoot  a  muir-fowl  in  the  drift; 

Water-bailiffs,  rangers,  keepers, 

He  can  wauk  when  they  are  sleepers; 

Not  for  bountith  or  reward 

Dare  ye  mell  wi'  Donald  Caird. 

Donald  Caird 's  come  again! 

Donald  Caird 's  come  again! 

Gar  the  bag-pipes  hum  amain, 

Donald  Caird 's  come  again. 

Donald  Caird  can  drink  a  gill 
Fast  as  hostler-wife  can  fill ; 
Ilka  ane  that  sells  gude  liquor 
Kens  how  Donald  bends  a  bicker; 
When  he 's  f ou  he 's  stout  and  saucy. 
Keeps  the  cantle  o'  the  cawsey; 
Hieland  chief  and  Lawland  laird 
Maun  gie  room  to  Donald  Caird ! 

Donald  Caird 's  come  again! 

Donald  Caird 's  come  again ! 

Tell  the  news  in  brugh  and  glen, 

Donald  Caird 's  come  again. 

Steek  the  amrie,  lock  the  kist, 
Else  some  gear  may  weel  be  mist; 
261 


DONALD   CAIRD'S  COME  AGAIN 

Donald  Caird  finds  orra  things 
Where  Allan  Gregor  fand  the  tings ; 
Dunts  of  kebbuck,  taits  o'  woo, 
Whiles  a  hen  and  whiles  a  sow, 
Webs  or  duds  frae  hedge  or  yard  — 
'Ware  the  wuddie,  Donald  Caird! 

Donald  Caird 's  come  again ! 

Donald  Caird 's  come  again ! 

Dinna  let  the  Shirra  ken 

Donald  Caird 's  come  again ! 

On  Donald  Caird  the  doom  was  stern, 
Craig  to  tether,  legs  to  airn; 
But  Donald  Caird  wi'  mickle  study 
Caught  the  gift  to  cheat  the  wuddie; 
Rings  of  airn,  and  bolts  of  steel, 
Fell  like  ice  frae  hand  and  heel ! 
Watch  the  sheep  in  fauld  and  glen, 
Donald  Caird 's  come  again! 

Donald  Caird 's  come  again ! 

Donald  Caird 's  come  again ! 

Dinna  let  the  Justice  ken 

Donald  Caird 's  come  again. 


MADGE  WILDFIRE'S  SONGS 

From  The  Heart  of  Mid-Lothian,  published  in  1818. 

When  the  glede's  in  the  blue  cloud, 

The  lavrock  lies  still  ; 
When  the  hound 's  in  the  green-wood, 

The  hind  keeps  the  hill. 


*0  sleep  ye  sound,  Sir  James,'  she  said, 

*  When  ye  suld  rise  and  ride  ? 
There's  twenty  men,  wi'  bow  and  blade, 
Are  seeking  where  ye  hide.' 


I  glance  like  the  wildfire  thro'  country  and  town ; 
I  'm  seen  on  the  causeway  —  I  'm  seen  on  the  down; 
The  lightning  that  flashes  so  bright  and  so  free. 
Is  scarcely  so  blithe  or  so  bonny  as  me. 


What  did  ye  wi'  the  bridal  ring  —  bridal  ring  —  bridal 

ring? 
What  did  ye  wi'  your  wedding  ring,  ye  little  cutty 

quean,  O? 
I  gied  it  till  a  sodger,  a  sodger,  a  sodger, 
I  gied  it  till  a  sodger,  an  auld  true  love  o'  mine,  O. 

263 


MADGE  WILDFIRE'S  SONGS 

Good  even,  good  fair  moon,  good  even  to  thee; 
I  prithee,  dear  moon,  now  show  to  me 
The  form  and  the  features,  the  speech  and  degree. 
Of  the  man  that  true  lover  of  mine  shall  be. 


It  is  the  bonny  butcher  lad, 
That  wears  the  sleeves  of  blue; 

He  sells  the  flesh  on  Saturday, 
On  Friday  that  he  slew. 


There's  a  bloodhound  ranging  Tinwald  wood, 
There 's  harness  glancing  sheen ; 

There  's  a  maiden  sits  on  Tinwald  brae, 
And  she  sings  loud  between. 


With  my  curch  on  my  foot,  and  my  shoe  on  my  hand, 
I  glance  like  the  wildfire  through  brugh  and  through 
land.  

In  the  bonny  cells  of  Bedlam, 

Ere  I  was  ane  and  twenty, 
I  had  hempen  bracelets  strong. 
And  merry  whips,  ding-dong. 

And  prayer  and  fasting  plenty. 


I  'm  Madge  of  the  country,  I  'm  Madge  of  the  town, 
And  I  'm  Madge  of  the  lad  I  am  blithest  to  own. 
The  Lady  of  Beever  in  diamonds  may  shine, 
But  has  not  a  heart  half  so  Hghtsome  as  mine. 

264 


MADGE  WILDFIRE'S  SONGS 

I  am  Queen  of  the  Wake,  and  I  'm  Lady  of  May, 
And  I  lead  the  blithe  ring  round  the  May-pole  to-day; 
The  wild-fire  that  flashes  so  fair  and  so  free 
Was  never  so  bright  or  so  bonny  as  me. 


Our  work  is  over  —  over  now, 
The  goodman  wipes  his  weary  brow, 
The  last  long  wain  wends  slow  away, 
And  we  are  free  to  sport  and  play. 

The  night  comes  on  when  sets  the  sun, 
And  labour  ends  when  day  is  done. 
When  Autumn's  gone,  and  Winter's  come, 
We  hold  our  jovial  harvest-home. 


When  the  fight  of  grace  is  fought. 
When  the  marriage  vest  is  wrought, 
When  Faith  hath  chased  cold  Doubt  away, 
And  Hope  but  sickens  at  delay, 
When  Charity,  imprisoned  here. 
Longs  for  a  more  expanded  sphere; 
Doff  thy  robes  of  sin  and  clay; 
Christian,  rise,  and  come  away. 


Cauld  is  my  bed,  Lord  Archibald, 
And  sad  my  sleep  of  sorrow; 

But  thine  sail  be  as  sad  and  cauld, 
My  fause  true  love,  to-morrow. 
265 


MADGE  WILDFIRE'S  SONGS 

And  weep  ye  not,  my  maidens  free, 
Though  death  your  mistress  borrow; 

For  he  for  whom  I  die  to-day. 
Shall  die  for  me  to-morrow. 


Proud  Maisie  is  in  the  wood, 

Walking  so  early; 
Sweet  Robin  sits  on  the  bush, 

Singing  so  rarely. 

'Tell  me,  though  bonny  bird. 
When  shall  I  marry  me?'  — 

*When  six  braw  gentlemen 
Kirkward  shall  carry  ye.' 

'Who  makes  the  bridal  bed, 

Birdie,  say  truly?'  — 
'The  grey-headed  sexton 

That  delves  the  grave  duly. 

'The  glow-worm  o'er  grave  and  stone 

Shall  light  thee  steady; 
The  owl  from  the  steeple  sing, 
"Welcome,  proud  lady."' 


THE  BATTLE  OF  SEMPACH » 

1818 
'T  WAS  when  among  our  linden-trees 

The  bees  had  housed  in  swarms  — 
And  grey-haired  peasants  say  that  these 

Betoken  foreign  arms  — 

Then  looked  we  down  to  Willisow, 

The  land  was  all  in  flame ; 
We  knew  the  Archduke  Leopold 

With  all  his  army  came. 

The  Austrian  nobles  made  their  vow, 
So  hot  their  heart  and  bold, 

'On  Switzer  carles  we'll  trample  now, 
And  slay  both  young  and  old.' 

With  clarion  loud  and  banner  proud, 

From  Zurich  on  the  lake, 
In  martial  pomp  and  fair  array 

Their  onward  march  they  make. 

'Now  list,  ye  lowland  nobles  all  — 
Ye  seek  the  mountain-strand, 

•  See  Note  21. 
267 


THE  BATTLE  OF  SEMPACH 

Nor  wot  ye  what  shall  be  your  lot 
In  such  a  dangerous  land. 

*  I  rede  ye,  shrive  ye  of  your  sins 

Before  ye  farther  go; 
A  skirmish  in  Helvetian  hills 
May  send  your  souls  to  woe.* 

'But  where  now  shall  we  find  a  priest 
Our  shrift  that  he  may  hear?'  — 

'The  Switzer  priest  has  ta'en  the  field,* 
He  deals  a  penance  drear. 

'  Right  heavily  upon  your  head 
He'll  lay  his  hand  of  steel, 

And  with  his  trusty  partisan 
Your  absolution  deal.' 

'T  was  on  a  Monday  morning  then, 
The  corn  was  steeped  in  dew, 

And  merry  maids  had  sickles  ta'en, 
When  the  host  to  Sempach  drew. 

The  stalwart  men  of  fair  Lucerne, 
Together  have  they  joined; 

The  pith  and  core  of  manhood  stern, 
Was  none  cast  looks  behind. 

•  See  Note  22. 
268 


THE  BATTLE  OF  SEMPACH 

It  was  the  Lord  of  Hare-castle, 

And  to  the  Duke  he  said, 
*Yon  little  band  of  brethren  true 
Will  meet  us  undismayed.'  — 

*0  Hare-castle,*  though  heart  of  hare!* 

Fierce  Oxenstern  replied.  — 
'Shalt  see  then  how  the  game  will  fare,' 

The  taunted  knight  replied. 

There  was  lacing  then  of  helmets  bright, 

And  closing  ranks  amain; 
The  peaks  they  hewed  from  their  boot-points 

Might  well-nigh  load  a  wain.^ 

And  thus  they  to  each  other  said, 

*Yon  handful  down  to  hew 
Will  be  no  boastful  tale  to  tell. 

The  peasants  are  so  few.' 

The  gallant  Swiss  Confederates  there. 

They  prayed  to  God  aloud, 
And  he  displayed  his  rainbow  fair 

Against  a  swarthy  cloud. 

Then  heart  and  pulse  throbbed  more  and  more 
With  courage  firm  and  high, 

*  In  the  original,  Haasenslein,  or  '  Hare-stone.'  »  See  Note  23. 

269 


THE  BATTLE  OF  SEMPACH 

And  down  the  good  Confederates  bore 
On  the  Austrian  chivalry. 

The  Austrian  Lion  ^  'gan  to  growl 

And  toss  his  mane  and  tail, 
And  ball  and  shaft  and  crossbow  bolt 

Went  whistling  forth  like  hail. 

Lance,  pike,  and  halbert  mingled  there, 
The  game  was  nothing  sweet; 

The  bows  of  many  a  stately  tree 
Lay  shivered  at  their  feet. 

The  Austrian  men-at-arms  stood  fast, 
So  close  their  spears  they  laid ; 

It  chafed  the  gallant  Winkelreid, 
Who  to  his  comrades  said  — 

*  I  have  a  virtuous  wife  at  home, 

A  wife  and  infant  son ; 
I  leave  them  to  my  country's  care,  — 
This  field  shall  soon  be  won. 

*  These  nobles  lay  their  spears  right  thick 

And  keep  full  firm  array, 
Yet  shall  my  charge  their  order  break 
And  make  my  brethren  way.' 

•  A  pun  on  the  Archduke's  name,  Leopold. 
270 


THE  BATTLE  OF  SEMPACH 

He  rushed  against  the  Austrian  band, 

In  desperate  career, 
And  with  his  body,  breast,  and  hand. 

Bore  down  each  hostile  spear. 

Four  lances  spHntered  on  his  crest, 

Six  shivered  in  his  side ; 
Still  on  the  serried  files  he  pressed  — 

He  broke  their  ranks  and  died. 

This  patriot's  self-devoted  deed 

First  tamed  the  Lion's  mood, 
And  the  four  Forest  Cantons  freed 

From  thraldom  by  his  blood. 

Right  where  his  charge  had  made  a  lane 

His  valiant  comrades  burst. 
With  sword  and  axe  and  partisan. 

And  hack  and  stab  and  thrust. 

The  daunted  Lion  'gan  to  whine 

And  granted  ground  amain, 
The  Mountain  Bull  ^  he  bent  his  brows. 

And  gored  his  sides  again. 

Then  lost  was  banner,  spear,  and  shield 
At  Sempach  in  the  flight, 

'  A  pun  on  the  urus,  or  wild  bull,  which  gives  name  to  the  canton  of  UrI. 
271 


THE  BATTLE  OF  SEMPACH 

The  cloister  vaults  at  Konig's-field 
Hold  many  an  Austrian  knight. 

It  was  the  Archduke  Leopold, 

So  lordly  would  he  ride, 
But  he  came  against  the  Switzer  churls, 

And  they  slew  him  in  his  pride. 

The  heifer  said  unto  the  bull, 

'And  shall  I  not  complain? 
There  came  a  foreign  nobleman 

To  milk  me  on  the  plain. 

*One  thrust  of  thine  outrageous  horn 

Has  galled  the  knight  so  sore 
That  to  the  churchyard  he  is  borne, 
To  range  our  glens  no  more.' 

An  Austrian  noble  left  the  stour. 
And  fast  the  flight  'gan  take; 

And  he  arrived  in  luckless  hour 
At  Sempach  on  the  lake. 

He  and  his  squire  a  fisher  called  — 
His  name  was  Hans  von  Rot  — 
'  For  love  or  meed  or  charity. 
Receive  us  in  thy  boat!' 
272 


THE  BATTLE  OF  SEMPACH 

Their  anxious  call  the  fisher  heard, 

And,  glad  the  meed  to  win, 
His  shallop  to  the  shore  he  steered 

And  took  the  flyers  in. 

And  while  against  the  tide  and  wind 

Hans  stoutly  rowed  his  way, 
The  noble  to  his  follower  signed 

He  should  the  boatman  slay. 

The  fisher's  back  was  to  them  turned, 

The  squire  his  dagger  drew, 
Hans  saw  his  shadow  in  the  lake, 

The  boat  he  overthrew. 

He  whelmed  the  boat,  and  as  they  strove 
He  stunned  them  with  his  oar, 

*Now,  drink  ye  deep,  my  gentle  sirs, 
You  '11  ne'er  stab  boatman  more. 

'Two  gilded  fishes  in  the  lake 
This  morning  have  I  caught, 

Their  silver  scales  may  much  avail. 
Their  carrion  flesh  is  naught.' 

It  was  a  messenger  of  woe 
Has  sought  the  Austrian  land : 
60  273 


THE  BATTLE  OF  SEMPACH 

*Ah!  gracious  lady,  evil  news! 
My  lord  lies  on  the  strand. 

*At  Sempach,  on  the  battle-field, 

His  bloody  corpse  lies  there.'  — 
*Ah,  gracious  God!'  the  lady  cried, 
'  What  tidings  of  despair ! ' 

Now  would  you  know  the  minstrel  wight 

Who  sings  of  strife  so  stern, 
Albert  the  Souter  is  he  hight, 

A  burgher  of  Lucerne. 

A  merry  man  was  he,  I  wot. 

The  night  he  made  the  lay, 
Returning  from  the  bloody  spot 

Where  God  had  judged  the  day. 


THE  NOBLE  MORINGER  ^ 

AN  ANCIENT   BALLAD 
1819 

O,   WILL  you  hear  a  knightly  tale  of  old  Bohemian 

day, 
It  was  the  noble  Moringer  in  wedlock  bed  he  lay ; 
He  halsed  and  kissed  his  dearest  dame  that  was  as  sweet 

as  May, 
And  said,  'Now,  lady  of  my  heart,  attend  the  words  I 

say. 

"T  is  I  have  vowed  a  pilgrimage  unto  a  distant  shrine, 
And  I  must  seek  Saint  Thomas-land  and  leave  the  land 

that's  mine; 
Here  shalt  thou  dwell  the  while  in  state,  so  thou  wilt 

pledge  thy  fay 
That  thou  for  my  return  wilt  wait  seven  twelvemonths 

and  a  day.' 

Then  out  and  spoke  that  lady  bright,  sore  troubled  in 

her  cheer, 
'Now  tell  me  true,  thou  noble  knight,  what  order  tak'st 

thou  here; 

<  See  Note  24. 
275 


THE  NOBLE  MORINGER 

And  who  shall  lead  thy  vassal  band  and  hold  thy  lordly 

sway, 
And  be  thy  lady's  guardian  true  when  thou  art  far 

away?* 

Out  spoke  the  noble  Moringer,  'Of  that  have  thou  no 

care, 
There's  many  a  gallant  gentleman  of  me  holds  living 

fair; 
The  trustiest  shall  rule  my  land,  my  vassals,  and  my 

state, 
And  be  a  guardian  tried  and  true  to  thee,  my  lovely 

mate. 

'As  Christian-man,  I  needs  must  keep  the  vow  which  I 

have  plight. 
When  I  am  far  in  foreign  land,  remember  thy  true 

knight; 
And  cease,  my  dearest  dame,  to  grieve,  for  vain  were 

sorrow  now. 
But  grant  thy  Moringer  his  leave,  since  God  hath  heard 

his  vow.' 

It  was  the  noble  Moringer  from  bed  he  made  him  boune, 
And  met  him  there  his  chamberlain  with  ewer  and  with 
gown: 

276 


THE  NOBLE  MORINGER 

He  flung  the  mantle  on  his  back,  't  was  furred  with 
miniver, 

He  dipped  his  hand  in  water  cold  and  bathed  his  fore- 
head fair. 

'Now  hear,'  he  said,  'Sir  Chamberlain,  true  vassal  art 

thou  mine. 
And  such  the  trust  that  I  repose  in  that  proved  worth  of 

thine, 
For  seven  years  shalt  thou  rule  my  towers  and  lead  my 

vassal  train. 
And  pledge  thee  for  my  lady's  faith  till  I  return  again.* 

The  chamberlain  was  blunt  and  true,  and  sturdily  said 
he, 

'Abide,  my  lord,  and  rule  your  own,  and  take  this  rede 
from  me; 

That  woman's  faith  *s  a  brittle  trust  —  Seven  twelve- 
months didst  thou  say? 

I'll  pledge  me  for  no  lady's  truth  beyond  the  seventh 
fair  day.' 

The  noble  baron  turned  him  round,  his  heart  was  full  of 

care, 
His  gallant  esquire  stood  him  nigh,  he  was  Marstetten's 

heir, 

277 


THE  NOBLE  MORINGER 

To  whom  he  spoke  right  anxiously, '  Thou  trusty  squire 

to  me, 
Wilt  thou  receive  this  weighty  trust  when  I  am  o'er  the 

sea? 

'To  watch  and  ward  my  castle  strong,  and  to  protect  my 

land. 
And  to  the  hunting  or  the  host  to  lead  my  vassal  band; 
And  pledge  thee  for  my  lady's  faith  till  seven  long  years 

are  gone, 
And  guard  her  as  Our  Lady  dear  was  guarded  by  Saint 

John.' 

Marstetten's  heir  was  kind  and  true,  but  fiery,  hot,  and 

young, 
And  readily  he  answer  made  with  too  presumptuous 

tongue : 
'My  noble  lord,  cast  care  away  and  on  your  journey 

wend, 
And  trust  this  charge  to  me  until  your  pilgrimage  have 

end. 

'Rely  upon  my  plighted  faith,  which  shall  be  truly 

tried. 
To  guard  your  lands,  and  ward  your  towers,  and  with 
your  vassals  ride ; 

278 


THE  NOBLE  MORINGER 

And  for  your  lovely  lady's  faith,  so  virtuous  and  so  dear, 
I  '11  gage  my  head  it  knows  no  change,  be  absent  thirty 
year.' 

The  noble  Moringer  took  cheer  when  thus  he  heard  him 

speak, 
And  doubt  forsook  his  troubled  brow  and  sorrow  left  his 

cheek ; 
A  long  adieu  he  bids  to  all  —  hoists  topsails  and  away, 
And  wanders  in  Saint  Thomas-land  seven  twelvemonths 

and  a  day. 

It  was  the  noble  Moringer  within  an  orchard  slept. 
When  on  the  baron's  slumbering  sense  a  boding  vision 

crept ; 
And  whispered  in  his  ear  a  voice, '  'T  is  time.  Sir  Knight, 

to  wake. 
Thy  lady  and  thy  heritage  another  master  take. 

'  Thy  tower  another  banner  knows,  thy  steeds  another 

rein. 
And  stoop  them  to  another's  will  thy  gallant  vassal 
train ; 

,      And  she,  the  lady  of  thy  love,  so  faithful  once  and  fair, 
This  night  within  thy  fathers'  hall  she  weds  Marstet- 
ten's  heir.' 

279 


THE  NOBLE  MORINGER 

It  Is  the  noble  Moringer  starts  up  and  tears  his  beard, 
'  O,  would  that  I  had  ne'er  been  born !  what  tidings  have 

I  heard! 
To  lose  my  lordship  and  my  lands  the  less  would  be  my 

care, 
But,  God !  that  e'er  a  squire  untrue  should  wed  my  lady 

fair. 

'O  good  Saint  Thomas,  hear,'  he  prayed,  'my  patron 

saint  art  thou, 
A  traitor  robs  me  of  my  land  even  while  I  pay  my 


vow 


My  wife   he  brings  to  infamy  that  was  so  pure  of 

name, 
And  I  am  far  in  foreign  land  and  must  endure  the 

shame.' 

It  was  the  good  Saint  Thomas  then  who  heard  his  pil- 
grim's prayer, 
And  sent  a  sleep  so  deep  and  dead  that  it  o'erpowered 

his  care; 
He  waked  in  fair  Bohemian  land  out-stretched  beside  a 

rill. 
High  on  the  right  a  castle  stood,  low  on  the  left  a  mill. 

The  Moringer  he  started  up  as  one  from  spell  unbound. 
And  dizzy  with  surprise  and  joy  gazed  wildly  all  around; 

280 


THE  NOBLE  MORINGER 

'  I  know  my  fathers'  ancient  towers,  the  mill,  the  stream 
I  know, 

Now  blessM  be  my  patron  saint  who  cheered  his  pil- 
grim's woe!' 

He  leant  upon  his  pilgrim  staff  and  to  the  mill  he  drew. 
So  altered  was  his  goodly  form  that  none  their  master 

knew; 
The  baron  to  the  miller  said,  'Good  friend,  for  charity, 
Tell  a  poor  palmer  in  your  land  what  tidings  may  there 

be?' 

The  miller  answered  him  again, '  He  knew  of  little  news, 
Save  that  the  lady  of  the  land  did  a  new  bridegroom 

choose ; 
Her  husband  died  in  distant  land,  such  is  the  constant 

word, 
His  death  sits  heavy  on  our  souls,  he  was  a  worthy  lord. 

'Of  him  I  held  the  little  mill  which  wins  me  living 

free, 
God  rest  the  baron  in  his  grave,  he  still  was  kind  to 

me! 
And  when  Saint  Martin's  tide  comes  round  and  millers 

take  their  toll, 
The  priest  that  prays  for  Moringer  shall  have  both  cope 

and  stole.' 

281 


THE  NOBLE  MORINGER 

It  was  the  noble  Moringer  to  climb  the  hill  began, 

And  stood  before  the  bolted  gate  a  woe  and  weary  man ; 

'Now  help  me,  every  saint  in  heaven  that  can  compas- 
sion take, 

To  gain  the  entrance  of  my  hall  this  woful  match  to 
break.' 

His  very  knock  it  sounded  sad,  his  call  was  sad  and  slow, 
For  heart  and  head,  and  voice  and  hand,  were  heavy  all 

with  woe; 
And  to  the  warder  thus  he  spoke:  'Friend,  to  thy  lady 

say, 
A  pilgrim  from  Saint  Thomas-land  craves  harbour  for 

a  day. 

*  I  've  wandered  many  a  weary  step,  my  strength  is  well- 
nigh  done. 

And  if  she  turn  me  from  her  gate  I  '11  see  no  morrow's 
sun; 

I  pray,  for  sweet  Saint  Thomas'  sake,  a  pilgrim's  bed 
and  dole, 

And  for  the  sake  of  Moringer's,  her  once-loved  husband's 
soul.' 

It  was  the  stalwart  warder  then  he  came  his  dame  before, 
*A  pilgrim,  worn  and  travel-toiled,  stands  at  the  castle- 
door; 

282 


THE  NOBLE  MORINGER 

And  prays,  for  sweet  Saint  Thomas'  sake,  for  harbour 

and  for  dole, 
And  for  the  sake  of  Moringer,  thy  noble  husband's  soul.' 

The  lady's  gentle  heart  was  moved:  'Do  up  the  gate,' 

she  said, 
'And  bid  the  wanderer  welcome  be  to  banquet  and  to  bed ; 
And  since  he  names  my  husband's  name,  so  that  he  lists 

to  stay, 
These  towers  shall  be  his  harbourage  a  twelvemonth  and 

a  day.' 

It  was  the  stalwart  warder  then  undid  the  portal  broad, 
It  was  the  noble  Moringer  that  o'er  the  threshold  strode; 
'And  have  thou  thanks,  kind  Heaven,'  he  said,  'though 

from  a  man  of  sin. 
That  the  true  lord  stands  here  once  more  his  castle-gate 

within.* 

Then  up  the  halls  paced  Moringer,  his  step  was  sad  and 

slow ; 
It  sat  full  heavy  on  his  heart  none  seemed  their  lord  to 

know; 
He  sat  him  on  a  lowly  bench,  oppressed  with  woe  and 

wrong, 
Short  space  he  sat,  but  ne'er  to  him  seemed  little  space 

so  long. 

283 


THE  NOBLE  MORINGER 

Now  spent  was  day  and  feasting  o'er,  and  come  was 

evening  hour, 
The  time  was  nigh  when  new-made  brides  retire  to 

nuptial  bower; 
'Our  castle's  wont,'  a  bridesman  said,  'hath  been  both 

firm  and  long 
No  guest  to  harbour  in  our  halls  till  he  shall  chant 

a  song.* 

Then  spoke  the  youthful  bridegroom  there  as  he  sat  by 

the  bride, 
*My  merry  minstrel  folk,'  quoth  he,  'lay  shalm  and 

harp  aside ; 
Our  pilgrim  guest  must  sing  a  lay,  the  castle's  rule  to 

hold. 
And  well  his  guerdon  will  I  pay  with  garment  and  with 

gold.' 

'Chill  flows  the  lay  of  frozen  age,'  *t  was  thus  the  pil- 
grim sung, 

'Nor  golden  meed  nor  garment  gay  unlocks  his  heavy 
tongue ; 

Once  did  I  sit,  thou  bridegroom  gay,  at  board  as  rich  as 
thine, 

And  by  my  side  as  fair  a  bride  with  all  her  charms  was 
mine. 

284 


THE  NOBLE  MORINGER 

'But  time  traced  furrows  on  my  face  and  I  grew  silver- 
haired, 

For  locks  of  brown  and  cheeks  of  youth  she  left  this 
brow  and  beard ; 

Once  rich,  but  now  a  palmer  poor,  I  tread  life's  latest 
stage. 

And  mingle  with  your  bridal  mirth  the  lay  of  frozen  age.* 

It  was  the  noble  lady  there  this  woful  lay  that  hears, 
And  for  the  aged  pilgrim's  grief  her  eye  was  dimmed 

with  tears; 
She  bade  her  gallant  cupbearer  a  golden  beaker  take, 
And  bear  it  to  the  palmer  poor  to  quaff  it  for  her  sake. 

It  was  the  noble  Moringer  that  dropped  amid  the  wine 
A  bridal  ring  of  burning  gold  so  costly  and  so  fine : 
Now  listen,  gentles,  to  my  song,  it  tells  you  but  the 

sooth, 
*T  was  with  that  very  ring  of  gold  he  pledged  his  bridal 

truth. 

Then  to  the  cupbearer  he  said,  *  Do  me  one  kindly  deed. 
And  should  my  better  days  return,  full  rich  shall  be  thy 

meed; 
Bear  back  the  golden  cup  again  to  yonder  bride  so  gay. 
And  crave  her  of  her  courtesy  to  pledge  the  palmer 

grey.' 

285 


THE  NOBLE  MORINGER 

The  cupbearer  was  courtly  bred  nor  was  the  boon  de- 
nied, 

The  golden  cup  he  took  again  and  bore  it  to  the  bride ; 

'Lady,'  he  said,  'your  reverend  guest  sends  this,  and 
bids  me  pray 

That,  in  thy  noble  courtesy,  thou  pledge  the  palmer 
grey.' 


The  ring  hath  caught  the  lady's  eye,  she  views  it  close 

and  near, 
Then  might  you  hear  her  shriek  aloud,  'The  Moringer 

is  here ! ' 
Then  might  you  see  her  start  from  seat  while  tears  in 

torrents  fell, 
But  whether  't  was  for  joy  or  woe  the  ladies  best  can 

teU. 


But   loud  she  uttered    thanks  to  Heaven  and  every 

saintly  power 
That  had  returned  the  Moringer  before  the  midnight 

hour; 
And  loud  she  uttered  vow  on  vow  that  never  was  there 

bride 
That  had  like  her  preserved  her  troth  or  been  so  sorely 

tried. 

286 


THE  NOBLE  MORINGER 

'Yes,  here  I  claim  the  praise,'  she  said,  'to  constant  ma- 
trons due. 

Who  keep  the  troth  that  they  have  plight  so  steadfastly 
and  true; 

For  count  the  term  howe'er  you  will,  so  that  you  count 
aright, 

Seven  twelvemonths  and  a  day  are  out  when  bells  toll 
twelve  to-night.' 


It  was  Marstetten  then  rose  up,  his  falchion  there  he 

drew, 
He  kneeled  before  the  Moringer  and  down  his  weapon 

threw ; 
'My  oath  and  knightly  faith  are  broke,'  these  were  the 

words  he  said, 
'Then  take,  my  liege,  thy  vassal's  sword,  and  take  thy 

vassal's  head.' 


The  noble  Moringer  he  smiled,  and  then  aloud  did  say, 

'He  gathers  wisdom  that  hath  roamed  seven  twelve- 
months and  a  day; 

My  daughter  now  hath  fifteen  years,  fame  speaks  her 
sweet  and  fair, 

I  give  her  for  the  bride  you  lose,  and  name  her  for  my 
heir. 

287 


THE  NOBLE  MORINGER 

'The  young  bridegroom  hath  youthful  bride,  the  old 

bridegroom  the  old, 
Whose  faith  was  kept  till  term  and  tide  so  punctually 

were  told; 
But  blessings  on  the  warder  kind  that  oped  my  castle 

gate. 
For  had  I  come  at  morrow  tide  I  came  a  day  too  late.' 


EPITAPH  ON   MRS.   ERSKINE 

1819 

Plain  as  her  native  dignity  of  mind, 
Arise  the  tomb  of  her  we  have  resigned  ; 
Unflawed  and  stainless  be  the  marble  scroll, 
Emblem  of  lovely  form  and  candid  soul.  — 
But,  O,  what  symbol  may  avail  to  tell 
The  kindness,  wit,  and  sense  we  loved  so  well! 
What  sculpture  show  the  broken  ties  of  life. 
Here  buried  with  the  parent,  friend,  and  wife! 
Or  on  the  tablet  stamp  each  title  dear 
By  which  thine  urn,  Euphemia,  claims  the  tear! 
Yet  taught  by  thy  meek  sufferance  to  assume 
Patience  in  anguish,  hope  beyond  the  tomb, 
Resigned,  though  sad,  this  votive  verse  shall  flow, 
And  brief,  alas  I  as  thy  brief  span  below. 


289 


SONGS   FROM   THE   BRIDE  OF 
LAMMERMOOR 

Published  in  1819 
I 

'look  not  thou  on  beauty's  charming' 

From  Chapter  in.  'The  silver  tones  of  Lucy  Ashton's  voice  mingled  with  the 
accompaniment  in  an  ancient  air,  to  wiiich  some  one  had  adapted  the  following 
words:  ' — 

Look  not  thou  on  beauty's  charming; 
Sit  thou  still  when  kings  are  arming; 
Taste  not  when  the  wine-cup  glistens; 
Speak  not  when  the  people  listens; 
Stop  thine  ear  against  the  singer; 
From  the  red  gold  keep  thy  finger; 
Vacant  heart  and  hand  and  eye, 
Easy  live  and  quiet  die. 

II 

'the  monk  must  arise  when  the  matins  ring' 

From  Chapter  in.  'And  humming  his  rustic  roundelay,  the  yeoman  went  on 
his  road,  the  sound  of  his  rough  voice  gradually  dying  away  as  the  distance 
betwixt  them  increased.' 

The  monk  must  arise  when  the  matins  ring, 

The  abbot  may  sleep  to  their  chime; 
But  the  yeoman  must  start  when  the  bugles  sing, 

'T  is  time,  my  hearts,  't  is  time. 
290 


SONGS  FROM  THE  BRIDE  OF  LAMMERMOOR 

There's  bucks  and  raes  on  Bilhope  braes, 
There 's  a  herd  on  Shortwood  Shaw ; 

But  a  lily-white  doe  in  the  garden  goes, 
She's  fairly  worth  them  a'. 

Ill 

'when  the  last  laird  of  ravenswood  to 
ravenswood  shall  ride ' 

From  Chapter  xviii.  'With  a  quivering  voice,  and  a  cheek  pale  with  appre- 
hension, Caleb  faltered  out  the  following  lines:'  — 

When  the  last  Laird  of  Ravenswood  to  Ravenswood 

shall  ride, 
And  woo  a  dead  maiden  to  be  his  bride. 
He  shall  stable  his  steed  in  the  Kelpie's  flow, 
And  his  name  shall  be  lost  for  evermoe! 


SONGS  FROM   A  LEGEND  OF  MONTROSE 

Published  in  1 8 19 

I 

ANCIENT   GAELIC   MELODY 

Birds  of  omen  dark  and  foul, 
Night-crow,  raven,  bat,  and  owl. 
Leave  the  sick  man  to  his  dream  — 
All  night  long  he  heard  your  scream. 
Haste  to  cave  and  ruined  tower, 
Ivy  tod  or  dingled  bower, 
There  to  wink  and  mope,  for,  hark! 
In  the  mid  air  sings  the  lark. 

Hie  to  moorish  gills  and  rocks. 
Prowling  wolf  and  wily  fox,  — 
Hie  you  fast,  nor  turn  your  view, 
Though  the  lamb  bleats  to  the  ewe. 
Couch  your  trains  and  speed  your  flight, 
Safety  parts  with  parting  night ; 
And  on  distant  echo  borne, 
Comes  the  hunter's  early  horn. 

The  moon's  wan  crescent  scarcely  gleams, 
Ghost-like  she  fades  in  morning  beams ; 
292  / 


SONGS  FROM  A  LEGEND  OF  MONTROSE 

Hie  hence,  each  peevish  imp  and  fay 
That  scare  the  pilgrim  on  his  way. 
Quench,  kelpy!  quench,  in  bog  and  fen, 
Thy  torch  that  cheats  benighted  men ; 
Thy  dance  is  o'er,  thy  reign  is  done, 
For  Benyieglo  hath  seen  the  sun. 

Wild  thoughts  that,  sinful,  dark,  and  deep, 
O'erpower  the  passive  mind  in  sleep, 
Pass  from  the  slumberer's  soul  away. 
Like  night-mists  from  the  brow  of  day. 
Foul  hag,  whose  blasted  visage  grim 
Smothers  the  pulse,  unnerves  the  limb, 
Spur  thy  dark  palfrey  and  begone ! 
Thou  darest  not  face  the  godlike  sun. 

II 

THE    ORPHAN   MAID 

November's  hail-cloud  drifts  away, 

November's  sunbeam  wan 
Looks  coldly  on  the  castle  grey, 

When  forth  comes  Lady  Anne. 

The  orphan  by  the  oak  was  set, 
Her  arms,  her  feet,  were  bare; 

The  hail-drops  had  not  melted  yet 
Amid  her  raven  hair. 

293 


SONGS  FROM  A  LEGEND  OF  MONTROSE 

'And,  dame,'  she  said,  'by  all  the  ties 

That  child  and  mother  know, 
Aid  one  who  never  knew  these  joys,  — 
Relieve  an  orphan's  woe.' 

The  lady  said,  'An  orphan's  state 

Is  hard  and  sad  to  bear; 
Yet  worse  the  widowed  mother's  fate, 

Who  mourns  both  lord  and  heir. 

'Twelve  times  the  rolling  year  has  sped 
Since,  when  from  vengeance  wild 

Of  fierce  Strathallan's  chief  I  fled, 
Forth's  eddies  whelmed  my  child.' 

'Twelve  times  the  year  its  course  has  borne,* 

The  wandering  maid  replied, 
'Since  fishers  on  Saint  Bridget's  morn 

Drew  nets  on  Campsie  side. 

'Saint  Bridget  sent  no  scaly  spoil; 

An  infant,  well-nigh  dead. 
They  saved,  and  reared  in  want  and  toil, 
To  beg  from  you  her  bread.' 

That  orphan  maid  the  lady  kissed,  — 
'My  husband's  looks  you  bear; 
294 


SONGS  FROM  A  LEGEND  OF  MONTROSE 

Saint  Bridget  and  her  morn  be  blessed! 
You  are  his  widow's  heir.' 


They've  robed  that  maid,  so  poor  and  pale, 

In  silk  and  sandals  rare; 
And  pearls,  for  drops  of  frozen  hail, 

Are  glistening  in  her  hair. 


VERSES   FROM    IVANHOE 

Published  in  1819 

I 

THE   crusader's    RETURN 
From  Chapter  xvn 

High  deeds  achieved  of  knightly  fame, 
From  Palestine  the  champion  came; 
The  cross  upon  his  shoulders  borne 
Battle  and  blast  had  dimmed  and  torn. 
Each  dint  upon  his  battered  shield 
Was  token  of  a  foughten  field ; 
And  thus,  beneath  his  lady's  bower, 
He  sung,  as  fell  the  twilight  hour: 


'Joy  to  the  fair!  —  thy  knight  behold, 
Returned  from  yonder  land  of  gold ; 
No  wealth  he  brings,  nor  wealth  can  need, 
Save  his  good  arms  and  battle-steed, 
His  spurs  to  dash  against  a  foe. 
His  lance  and  sword  to  lay  him  low; 
Such  all  the  trophies  of  his  toil. 
Such  —  and  the  hope  of  Tekla's  smile! 
296 


VERSES   FROM  IVANHOE 

'Joy  to  the  fair!  whose  constant  knight 
Her  favour  fired  to  feats  of  might! 
Unnoted  shall  she  not  remain 
Where  meet  the  bright  and  noble  train; 
Minstrel  shall  sing,  and  herald  tell  — 

"Mark  yonder  maid  of  beauty  well, 
'T  is  she  for  whose  bright  eyes  was  won 
The  listed  field  at  Ascalon ! 

*"Note  well  her  smile!  —  it  edged  the  blade 
Which  fifty  wives  to  widows  made. 
When,  vain  his  strength  and  Mahound's  spell, 
Iconium's  turban'd  Soldan  fell. 
Seest  thou  her  locks,  whose  sunny  glow 
Half  shows,  half  shades,  her  neck  of  snow? 
Twines  not  of  them  one  golden  thread, 
But  for  its  sake  a  Paynim  bled." 

*Joy  to  the  fair!  —  my  name  unknown, 
Each  deed,  and  all  its  praise,  thine  own; 
Then,  oh !  unbar  this  churlish  gate, 
The  night-dew  falls,  the  hour  is  late. 
Inured  to  Syria's  glowing  breath, 
I  feel  the  north  breeze  chill  as  death ; 
Let  grateful  love  quell  maiden  shame. 
And  grant  him  bliss  who  brings  thee  fame.' 


297 


VERSES  FROM  IVANHOE 
II 

THE   BAREFOOTED   FRIAR 

From  Chapter  xvii 

I  'll  give  thee,  good  fellow,  a  twelvemonth  or  twain 
To  search  Europe  through  from  Byzantium  to  Spain; 
But  ne'er  shall  you  find,  should  you  search  till  you  tire, 
So  happy  a  man  as  the  Barefooted  Friar. 

Your  knight  for  his  lady  pricks  forth  in  career, 

And  is  brought  home  at  even-song  pricked  through  with 

a  spear; 
I  confess  him  in  haste  —  for  his  lady  desires 
No  comfort  on  earth  save  the  Barefooted  Friar's. 

Your   monarch !  —  Pshaw !   many  a   prince   has  been 

known 
To  barter  his  robes  for  our  cowl  and  our  gown ; 
But  which  of  us  e'er  felt  the  idle  desire 
To  exchange  for  a  crown  the  grey  hood  of  a  friar? 

The  Friar  has  walked  out,  and  where'er  he  has  gone 
The  land  and  its  fatness  is  marked  for  his  own ; 
He  can  roam  where  he  lists,  he  can  stop  when  he  tires, 
For  every  man's  house  is  the  Barefooted  Friar's. 

298 


VERSES   FROM  IVANHOE 

He's  expected  at  noon,  and  no  wight  till  he  comes 
May  profane  the  great  chair  or  the  porridge  of  plums: 
For  the  best  of  the  cheer,  and  the  seat  by  the  fire, 
Is  the  undenied  right  of  the  Barefooted  Friar. 

He's  expected  at  night,  and  the  pasty's  made  hot, 
They  broach  the  brown  ale  and  they  till  the  black  pot ; 
And  the  goodwife  would  wish  the  goodman  in  the  mire, 
Ere  he  lacked  a  soft  pillow,  the  Barefooted  Friar. 

Long  flourish  the  sandal,  the  cord,  and  the  cope. 
The  dread  of  the  devil  and  trust  of  the  Pope ! 
For  to  gather  life's  roses,  unscathed  by  the  briar, 
Is  granted  alone  to  the  Barefooted  Friar. 


Ill 

*  NORMAN   SAW   ON   ENGLISH    OAK' 
From  Chapter  xxvii 

Norman  saw  on  English  oak. 

On  English  neck  a  Norman  yoke; 

Norman  spoon  in  English  dish. 

And  England  ruled  as  Normans  wish ; 

Blithe  world  in  England  never  will  be  more, 

Till  England 's  rid  of  all  the  four. 


299 


VERSES  FROM  IVANHOE 


IV 

WAR-SONG 

From  Chapter  xxxi.  'The  fire  was  spreading  rapidly  through  all  parts  of  the 
castle,  when  Ulrica,  who  had  first  kindled  it,  appeared  on  a  turret,  in  the  guise 
of  one  of  the  ancient  furies,  yelling  forth  a  war-song,  such  as  was  of  yore 
raised  on  the  field  of  battle  by  the  scalds  of  the  yet  heathen  Saxons.  Her  long 
dishevelled  grey  hair  flew  back  from  her  uncovered  head,  the  inebriating  delight 
of  gratified  vengeance  contended  in  her  eyes  with  the  fire  of  insanity,  and  she 
brandished  the  distafi  which  she  held  in  her  hand,  as  if  she  had  been  one  of  the 
Fatal  Sisters  who  spin  and  abridge  the  thread  of  human  life.  Tradition  has 
preserved  some  wild  strophes  of  the  barbarous  hymn  which  she  chanted  wildly 
amid  that  scene  of  fire  and  slaughter.' 


I 

Whet  the  bright  steel, 

Sons  of  the  White  Dragon! 

Kindle  the  torch, 

Daughter  of  Hengist! 

The  steel  glimmers  not  for  the  carving  of  the  banquet, 

It  is  hard,  broad,  and  sharply  pointed; 

The  torch  goeth  not  to  the  bridal  chamber, 

It  steams  and  glitters  blue  with  sulphur. 

Whet  the  steel,  the  raven  croaks! 

Light  the  torch,  Zernebock  is  yelling! 

Whet  the  steel,  sons  of  the  Dragon! 

Kindle  the  torch,  daughter  of  Hengist! 

2 

The  black  cloud  is  low  over  the  thane's  castle; 
The  eagle  screams  —  he  rides  on  its  bosom. 

300 


VERSES  FROM  IVANHOE 

Scream  not,  grey  rider  of  the  sable  cloud, 

Thy  banquet  is  prepared ! 

The  maidens  of  Valhalla  look  forth, 

The  race  of  Hengist  will  send  them  guests. 

Shake  your  black  tresses,  maidens  of  Valhalla! 

And  strike  your  loud  timbrels  for  joy! 

Many  a  haughty  step  bends  to  your  halls, 

Many  a  helmed  head. 

3 

Dark  sits  the  evening  upon  the  thane's  castle, 

The  black  clouds  gather  round ; 

Soon  shall  they  be  red  as  the  blood  of  the  valiant! 

The  destroyer  of  forests  shall  shake  his  red  crest  against 

them; 
He,  the  bright  consumer  of  palaces, 
Broad  waves  he  his  blazing  banner. 
Red,  white,  and  dusky, 
Over  the  strife  of  the  valiant; 

His  joy  is  in  the  clashing  swords  and  broken  bucklers; 
He  loves  to  lick  the  hissing  blood  as  it  bursts  warm  from 

the  wound! 

4 

All  must  perish! 
The  sword  cleaveth  the  helmet; 
The  strong  armour  is  pierced  by  the  lance: 

301 


VERSES  FROM  IVANHOE 

Fire  devoureth  the  dwelling  of  princes, 

Engines  break  down  the  fences  of  the  battle. 

All  must  perish! 

The  race  of  Hengist  is  gone  — 

The  name  of  Horsa  is  no  more! 

Shrink  not  then  from  your  doom,  sons  of  the  sword! 

Let  your  blades  drink  blood  like  wine ; 

Feast  ye  in  the  banquet  of  slaughter. 

By  the  light  of  the  blazing  halls! 

Strong  be  your  swords  while  your  blood  is  warm, 

And  spare  neither  for  pity  nor  fear. 

For  vengeance  hath  but  an  hour; 

Strong  hate  itself  shall  expire! 

I  also  must  perish! 

V 

Rebecca's  hymn 

From  Chapter  xxxix 

When  Israel,  of  the  Lord  beloved. 

Out  from  the  land  of  bondage  came, 
Her  fathers'  God  before  her  moved, 

An  awful  guide  in  smoke  and  flame- 
By  day,  along  the  astonished  lands 

The  cloudy  pillar  glided  slow; 
By  night,  Arabia's  crimsoned  sands 

Returned  the  fiery  column's  glow. 
302 


VERSES  FROM  IVANHOE 

There  rose  the  choral  hymn  of  praise, 

And  trump  and  timbrel  answered  keen, 
And  Zion's  daughters  poured  their  lays, 

With  priest's  and  warrior's  voice  between. 
No  portents  now  our  foes  amaze, 

Forsaken  Israel  wanders  lone: 
Our  fathers  would  not  know  Thy  ways. 

And  Thou  hast  left  them  to  their  own. 

But  present  still,  though  now  unseen, 

When  brightly  shines  the  prosperous  day. 
Be  thoughts  of  Thee  a  cloudy  screen 

To  temper  the  deceitful  ray! 
And  O,  when  stoops  on  Judah's  path 

In  shade  and  storm  the  frequent  night, 
Be  Thou,  long-suffering,  slow  to  wrath, 

A  burning  and  a  shining  light! 

Our  harps  we  left  by  Babel's  streams. 

The  tyrant's  jest,  the  Gentile's  scorn; 
No  censer  round  our  altar  beams, 

And  mute  are  timbrel,  harp,  and  horn. 
But  Thou  hast  said.  The  blood  of  goat, 

The  flesh  of  rams,  I  will  not  prize; 
A  contrite  heart,  a  humble  thought. 

Are  mine  accepted  sacrifice. 


303 


VERSES   FROM  IVANHOE 

VI 

THE   BLACK   KNIGHT  AND   WAMBA 

From  Chapter  xl.  'At  the  point  of  their  journey  at  which  we  take  them  up, 
this  joyous  pair  were  engaged  in  singing  a  virelai,  as  it  was  called,  in  which  the 
clown  bore  a  mellow  burden  to  the  better  instructed  Knight  of  the  Fetterlock. 
And  thus  ran  the  ditty:'  — 

Anna-Marie,  love,  up  is  the  sun, 
Anna-Marie,  love,  morn  is  begun, 
Mists  are  dispersing,  love,  birds  singing  free, 
Up  in  the  morning,  love,  Anna-Marie. 

Anna-Marie,  love,  up  in  the  morn, 
The  hunter  is  winding  blithe  sounds  on  his  horn, 
The  echo  rings  merry  from  rock  and  from  tree, 
'T  is  time  to  arouse  thee,  love,  Anna-Marie. 

WAMBA 

O  Tybalt,  love,  Tybalt,  awake  me  not  yet. 
Around  my  soft  pillow  while  softer  dreams  flit; 
For  what  are  the  joys  that  in  waking  we  prove. 
Compared  with  these  visions,  O  Tybalt,  my  love? 
Let  the  birds  to  the  rise  of  the  mist  carol  shrill. 
Let  the  hunter  blow  out  his  loud  horn  on  the  hill, 
Softer  sounds,  softer  pleasures,  in  slumber  I  prove. 
But  think  not  I  dreamed  of  thee,  Tybalt,  my  love. 


304 


VERSES  FROM     IVANHOE 

VII 

ANOTHER   CAROL   BY   THE   SAME 

'The  Jester  next  struck  into  another  carol,  a  sort  of  comic  ditty,  to  which  the 
Knight,  catching  up  the  tune,  repUed  in  the  hke  manner.' 

KNIGHT  AND   WAMBA 

There  came  three  merry  men  from  south,  west,  and 
north, 

Evermore  sing  the  roundelay; 
To  win  the  Widow  of  Wycombe  forth, 

And  where  was  the  widow  might  say  them  nay? 

The  first  was  a  knight,  and  from  Tynedale  he  came. 

Evermore  sing  the  roundelay; 
And  his  fathers,  God  save  us,  were  men  of  great  fame, 

And  where  was  the  widow  might  say  him  nay? 

Of  his  father  the  laird,  of  his  uncle  the  squire. 
He  boasted  in  rhyme  and  in  roundelay; 

She  bade  him  go  bask  by  his  sea-coal  fire. 
For  she  was  the  widow  would  say  him  nay. 

WAMBA 

The  next    that  came   forth  swore  by  blood   and  by 
nails. 
Merrily  sing  the  roundelay; 
50  305 


VERSES  FROM  IVANHOE 

Hur's  a  gentleman,  God  wot,  and  hur's  lineage  was  of 
Wales, 
And  where  was  the  widow  might  say  him  nay? 

Sir  David  ap  Morgan  ap  Griffith  ap  Hugh 
Ap  Tudor  Ap  Rhice,  quoth  his  roundelay; 

She  said  that  one  widow  for  so  many  was  too  few, 
And  she  bade  the  Welshman  wend  his  way. 

But  then  next  came  a  yeoman,  a  yeoman  of  Kent, 

JoUily  singing  his  roundelay; 
He  spoke  to  the  widow  of  living  and  rent, 

And  where  was  the  widow  could  say  him  nay? 

BOTH 

So  the  knight  and  the  squire  were  both  left  in  the  mire. 

There  for  to  sing  their  roundelay; 
For  a  yeoman  of  Kent,  with  his  yearly  rent, 

There  ne'er  was  a  widow  could  say  him  nay. 

VIII 
FUNERAL   HYMN 

From  Chapter  xlu 

Dust  unto  dust. 
To  this  all  must; 

The  tenant  hath  resigned 
306 


VERSES  FROM  IVANHOE 

The  faded  form 

To  waste  and  worm  — 

Corruption  claims  her  kind. 

Through  paths  unknown 
Thy  soul  hath  flown 

To  seek  the  realms  of  woe, 
Where  fiery  pain 
Shall  purge  the  stain 

Of  actions  done  below. 

In  that  sad  place, 
By  Mary's  grace, 

Brief  may  thy  dwelling  be! 
Till  prayers  and  alms. 
And  holy  psalms, 

Shall  set  the  captive  free. 


VERSES  FROM  THE  MONASTERY 

Published  in  1820 

I 

ANSWER   TO   INTRODUCTORY  EPISTLE 

Take  thou  no  scorn, 
Of  fiction  born, 

Fair  fiction's  muse  to  woo; 
Old  Homer's  theme 
Was  but  a  dream, 

Himself  a  fiction  too. 

II 

BORDER   SONG 

From  Chapter  xxv 
I 

March,  march,  Ettrick  and  Teviotdale, 

Why  the  deil  dinna  ye  march  forward  in  order? 
March,  march,  Eskdale  and  Liddesdale, 

All  the  Blue  Bonnets  are  bound  for  the  Border. 
Many  a  banner  spread, 
Flutters  above  your  head. 
Many  a  crest  that  is  famous  in  story. 
Mount  and  make  ready  then, 
Sons  of  the  mountain  glen. 
Fight  for  the  Queen  and  the  old  Scottish  glory. 
308 


VERSES  FROM  THE  MONASTERY 

2 

Come  from  the  hills  where  your  hirsels  are  grazing, 

Come  from  the  glen  of  the  buck  and  the  roe; 
Come  to  the  crag  where  the  beacon  is  blazing, 
Come  with  the  buckler,  the  lance,  and  the  bow. 

Trumpets  are  sounding, 

War-steeds  are  bounding, 
Stand  to  your  arms  then,  and  march  in  good  order  j 

England  shall  many  a  day 

Tell  of  the  bloody  fray, 
When  the  Blue  Bonnets  came  over  the  Border. 


Ill 

SONGS   OF  THE  WHITE   LADY   OF  AVENEL 

From  Chapter  v 

FORDING  THE   RIVER 
I 

Merrily  swim  we,  the  moon  shines  bright, 
Both  current  and  ripple  are  dancing  in  light. 
We  have  roused  the  night  raven,  I  heard  him  croak, 
As  we  plashed  along  beneath  the  oak 
That  flings  its  broad  branches  so  far  and  so  wide, 
Their  shadows  are  dancing  in  midst  of  the  tide. 
'Who  wakens  my  nestlings!'  the  raven  he  said, 
'  My  beak  shall  ere  morn  in  his  blood  be  red ! 

309 


VERSES   FROM  THE  MONASTERY 

For  a  blue  swollen  corpse  is  a  dainty  meal, 

And  I  '11  have  my  share  with  the  pike  and  the  eel.* 

2 
Merrily  swim  we,  the  moon  shines  bright. 
There's  a  golden  gleam  on  the  distant  height: 
There 's  a  silver  shower  on  the  alders  dank. 
And  the  drooping  willows  that  wave  on  the  bank. 
I  see  the  Abbey,  both  turret  and  tower, 
It  is  all  astir  for  the  vesper  hour; 
The  Monks  for  the  chapel  are  leaving  each  cell, 
But  where 's  Father  Philip,  should  toll  the  bell? 

3 
Merrily  swim  we,  the  moon  shines  bright, 
Downward  we  drift  through  shadow  and  light. 
Under  yon  rock  the  eddies  sleep. 
Calm  and  silent,  dark  and  deep. 
The  Kelpy  has  risen  from  the  fathomless  pool, 
He  has  lighted  his  candle  of  death  and  of  dool: 
Look,  Father,  look,  and  you'll  laugh  to  see 
How  he  gapes  and  glares  with  his  eyes  on  thee ! 

4 
Good  luck  to  your  fishing,  whom  watch  ye  to-night? 
A  man  of  mean  or  a  man  of  might? 
Is  it  layman  or  priest  that  must  float  in  your  cove, 
Or  lover  who  crosses  to  visit  his  love? 

310 


VERSES  FROM  THE  MONASTERY 

Hark!  heard  ye  the  Kelpy  reply  as  we  passed, 
*  God's  blessing  on  the  warder,  he  locked  the  bridge 

fast! 
All  that  come  to  my  cove  are  sunk. 
Priest  or  layman,  lover  or  monk.' 


Landed  —  landed!  the  black  book  hath  won, 
Else  had  you  seen  Berwick  with  morning  sun! 
Sain  ye,  and  save  ye,  and  blithe  mot  ye  be, 
For  seldom  they  land  that  go  swimming  with  me. 

IV 

TO  THE   SUB-PRIOR 

From  Chapter  ix 

Good  evening,  Sir  Priest,  and  so  late  as  you  ride, 
With  your  mule  so  fair,  and  your  mantle  so  wide; 
But  ride  you  through  valley,  or  ride  you  o'er  hill, 
There  is  one  that  has  warrant  to  wait  on  you  still. 

Back,  back. 

The  volume  black! 
I  have  a  warrant  to  carry  it  back. 

What,  ho !  Sub-Prior,  and  came  you  but  here 

To  conjure  a  book  from  a  dead  woman's  bier? 

Sain  you,  and  save  you,  be  wary  and  wise, 

Ride  back  with  the  book,  or  you  '11  pay  for  your  prize. 

311 


VERSES   FROM  THE  MONASTERY 

Back,  back, 

There 's  death  in  the  track ! 
In  the  name  of  my  master,  I  bid  thee  bear  back. 


'  In  the  name  of  my  Master,'  said  the  astonished  monk,  '  that  name  before 
which  all  things  created  tremble,  I  conjure  thee  to  say  what  thou  art  that 
hauntest  me  thus  ? ' 

The  same  voice  replied,  — 


That  which  is  neither  ill  nor  well, 
That  which  belongs  not  to  heaven  nor  to  hell, 
A  wreath  of  the  mist,  a  bubble  of  the  stream, 
'Twixt  a  waking  thought  and  a  sleeping  dream ; 

A  form  that  men  spy 

With  the  half-shut  eye 
In  the  beams  of  the  setting  sun,  am  I. 

Vainly,  Sir  Prior,  wouldst  thou  bar  me  my  right! 
Like  the  star  when  it  shoots,  I  can  dart  through  the 

night ; 
I  can  dance  on  the  torrent,  and  ride  on  the  air. 
And  travel  the  world  with  the  bonny  nightmare. 

Again,  again, 

At  the  crook  of  the  glen. 
Where  bickers  the  burnie,  I  '11  meet  thee  again. 


Men  of  good  are  bold  as  sackless, 
Men  of  rude  are  wild  and  reckless. 
312 


VERSES  FROM  THE  MONASTERY 

Lie  thou  still 
In  the  nook  of  the  hill, 
For  those  be  before  thee  that  wish  thee  ill. 

V 

halbert's  incantation 

From  Chapter  xi 

Thrice  to  the  holly  brake. 

Thrice  to  the  well ; 
I  bid  thee  awake, 

White  Maid  of  Avenel! 

Noon  gleams  on  the  Lake, 

Noon  glows  on  the  Fell; 
Wake  thee,  O  wake. 

White  Maid  of  Avenel. 

VI 

TO  HALBERT 

From  Chapter  xii 

THE  WHITE   MAID   OF  AVENEL 

Youth  of  the  dark  eye,  wherefore  didst  thou  call  me? 
Wherefore  art  thou  here,  if  terrors  can  appall  thee? 
He  that  seeks  to  deal  with  us  must  know  nor  fear  nor 
failing ; 

313 


VERSES  FROM  THE  MONASTERY 

To  coward  and  churl  our  speech  is  dark,  our  gifts  are 

unavailing. 
The  breeze  that  brought  me  hither  now  must  sweep 

Egyptian  ground, 
The  fleecy  cloud  on  which  I  ride  for  Araby  is  bound ; 
The  fleecy  cloud  is  drifting  by,  the  breeze  sighs  for  my 

stay. 
For  I  must  sail  a  thousand  miles  before  the  close  of  day. 


What  I  am  I  must  not  show. 
What  I  am  thou  couldst  not  know  — 
Something  betwixt  heaven  and  hell, 
Something  that  neither  stood  nor  fell, 
Something  that  through  thy  wit  or  will 
May  work  thee  good,  may  work  thee  ill. 
Neither  substance  quite,  nor  shadow, 
Haunting  lonely  moor  and  meadow, 
Dancing  by  the  haunted  spring, 
Riding  on  the  whirlwind's  wing; 
Aping  in  fantastic  fashion 
Every  change  of  human  passion, 
While  o'er  our  frozen  minds  they  pass, 
Like  shadows  from  the  mirrored  glass. 
Wayward,  fickle,  is  our  mood. 
Hovering  betwixt  bad  and  good, 
Happier  than  brief-dated  man, 
Living  twenty  times  his  span; 
314 


VERSES  FROM  THE  MONASTERY 

Far  less  happy,  for  we  have 
Help  nor  hope  beyond  the  grave! 
Man  awakes  to  joy  or  sorrow; 
Ours  the  sleep  that  knows  no  morrow. 
This  is  all  that  I  can  show  — 
This  is  all  that  thou  mayst  know. 


Ay!  and  I  taught  thee  the  word  and  the  spell 
To  waken  me  here  by  the  Fairies'  Well. 
But  thou  hast  loved  the  heron  and  hawk, 
More  than  to  seek  my  haunted  walk; 
And  thou  hast  loved  the  lance  and  the  sword. 
More  than  good  text  and  holy  word ; 
And  thou  hast  loved  the  deer  to  track, 
More  than  the  lines  and  the  letters  black; 
And  thou  art  a  ranger  of  moss  and  of  wood, 
And  scornest  the  nurture  of  gentle  blood. 


Thy  craven  fear  my  truth  accused, 

Thine  idlehood  my  trust  abused; 

He  that  draws  to  harbour  late 

Must  sleep  without,  or  burst  the  gate. 

There  is  a  star  for  thee  which  burned, 

Its  influence  wanes,  its  course  is  turned ; 

Valour  and  constancy  alone 

Can  bring  thee  back  the  chance  that 's  flown. 


31S 


1 


VERSES  FROM  THE  MONASTERY 

Within  that  awful  volume  lies 
The  mystery  of  mysteries! 
Happiest  they  of  human  race, 
To  whom  God  has  granted  grace 
To  read,  to  fear,  to  hope,  to  pray, 
To  lift  the  latch,  and  force  the  way; 
And  better  had  they  ne'er  been  born. 
Who  read  to  dcubt,  or  read  to  scorn. 


Many  a  fathom  dark  and  deep 
I  have  laid  the  book  to  sleep; 
Ethereal  fires  around  it  glowing  — 
Ethereal  music  ever  flowing  — 

The  sacred  pledge  of  Heaven 
All  things  revere, 
Each  in  his  sphere, 

Save  man,  for  whom  't  was  given; 
Lend  thy  hand,  and  thou  shalt  spy 
Things  ne'er  seen  by  mortal  eye. 


Fearest  thou  to  go  with  me? 
Still  it  is  free  to  thee 

A  peasant  to  dwell ; 
Thou  mayst  drive  the  dull  steer, 
And  chase  the  king's  deer, 
But  never  more  come  near 

This  haunted  well. 

316 


VERSES  FROM  THE  MONASTERY 

Here  lies  the  volume  thou  boldly  hast  sought; 
Touch  it,  and  take  it,  't  will  dearly  be  bought. 


Rash  thy  deed. 

Mortal  weed 
To  immortal  flames  applying; 

Rasher  trust 

Has  thing  of  dust. 
On  his  own  weak  worth  relying : 
Strip  thee  of  such  fences  vain. 
Strip,  and  prove  thy  luck  again. 


Mortal  warp  and  mortal  woof 
Cannot  brook  this  charmed  roof; 
All  that  mortal  art  hath  wrought 
In  our  cell  returns  to  nought. 
The  molten  gold  returns  to  clay, 
The  polished  diamond  melts  away; 
All  is  altered,  all  is  flown. 
Nought  stands  fast  but  truth  alone. 
Not  for  that  thy  quest  give  o'er: 
Courage!  prove  thy  chance  once  more. 


Alas!  alas! 
Not  ours  the  grace 
These  holy  characters  to  trace; 
Idle  forms  of  painted  air, 

317 


VERSES  FROM  THE  MONASTERY 

Not  to  us  is  given  to  share 
The  boon  bestowed  on  Adam's  race. 

With  patience  bide, 

Heaven  will  provide 
The  fitting  time,  the  fitting  guide. 


VII 

TO  THE   SAME 

From  Chapter  xvii.  'She  spoke,  and  her  speech  was  still  song,  or  rather 
measured  chant;  but,  as  if  now  more  familiar,  it  flowed  occasionally  in  modu- 
lated blank  verse,  and,  at  other  times,  in  the  lyrical  measure  which  she  had  used 
at  their  former  meeting.' 

This  is  the  day  when  the  fairy  kind 

Sit  weeping  alone  for  their  hopeless  lot, 

And  the  wood-maiden  sighs  to  the  sighing  wind, 

And  the  mermaiden  weeps  in  her  crystal  grot; 

For  this  is  the  day  that  a  deed  was  wrought, 

In  which  we  have  neither  part  nor  share. 

For  the  children  of  clay  was  salvation  bought, 

But  not  for  the  forms  of  sea  or  air! 

And  ever  the  mortal  is  most  forlorn, 

Who  meeteth  our  race  on  the  Friday  morn. 


Daring  youth!  for  thee  it  is  well, 
Here  calling  me  in  haunted  dell, 
That  thy  heart  has  not  quailed, 
Nor  thy  courage  failed, 
318 


VERSES  FROM  THE  MONASTERY 

And  that  thou  couldst  brook 

The  angry  look 

Of  Her  of  Avenel. 

Did  one  limb  shiver, 

Or  an  eyelid  quiver, 

Thou  wert  lost  for  ever. 

Though  I  am  formed  from  the  ether  blue, 

And  my  blood  is  of  the  unfallen  dew, 

And  thou  art  framed  of  mud  and  dust, 

'T  is  thine  to  speak,  reply  I  must. 


A  mightier  wizard  far  than  I 
Wields  o'er  the  universe  his  power; 
Him  owns  the  eagle  in  the  sky, 
The  turtle  in  the  bower. 
Changeful  in  shape,  yet  mightiest  still. 
He  wields  the  heart  of  man  at  will. 
From  ill  to  good,  from  good  to  ill, 
In  cot  and  castle-tower. 


Ask  thy  heart,  whose  secret  cell 
Is  filled  with  Mary  Avenel! 
Ask  thy  pride,  why  scornful  look 
In  Mary's  view  it  will  not  brook? 
Ask  it,  why  thou  seek'st  to  rise 
Among  the  mighty  and  the  wise,  — 

319 


VERSES  FROM  THE  MONASTERY 

Why  thou  spurn'st  thy  lowly  lot,  — 

Why  thy  pastimes  are  forgot,  — 

Why  thou  wouldst  in  bloody  strife 

Mend  thy  luck  or  lose  thy  life? 

Ask  thy  heart,  and  it  shall  tell, 

Sighing  from  its  secret  cell, 

'T  is  for  Mary  Avenel. 

Do  not  ask  me; 

On  doubts  like  these  thou  canst  not  task  me. 

We  only  see  the  passing  show 

Of  human  passions'  ebb  and  flow; 

And  view  the  pageant's  idle  glance 

As  mortals  eye  the  northern  dance. 

When  thousand  streamers,  flashing  bright, 

Career  it  o'er  the  brow  of  night. 

And  gazers  mark  their  changeful  gleams, 

But  feel  no  influence  from  their  beams. 


By  ties  mysterious  linked,  our  fated  race 
Holds  strange  connexion  with  the  sons  of  men. 
The  star  that  rose  upon  the  House  of  Avenel, 
When  Norman  Ulric  first  assumed  the  name, 
That  star,  when  culminating  in  its  orbit, 
Shot  from  its  sphere  a  drop  of  diamond  dew, 
And  this  bright  font  received  it  —  and  a  Spirit 
I^ose  from  the  fountain,  and  her  date  of  life 


VERSES  FROM  THE  MONASTERY 

Hath  coexistence  with  the  House  of  Avenel, 
And  with  the  star  that  rules  it. 


Look  on  my  girdle  —  on  this  thread  of  gold  — 
'T  is  fine  as  web  of  lightest  gossamer, 
And,  but  there  is  a  spell  on  't,  would  not  bind, 
Light  as  they  are,  the  folds  of  my  thin  robe. 
But  when  't  was  donned,  it  was  a  massive  chain, 
Such  as  might  bind  the  champion  of  the  Jews, 
Even  when  his  locks  were  longest ;  it  hath  dwindled, 
Hath  'minished  in  its  substance  and  its  strength, 
As  sunk  the  greatness  of  the  House  of  Avenel. 
When  this  frail  thread  gives  way,  I  to  the  elements 
Resign  the  principles  of  life  they  lent  me. 
Ask  me  no  more  of  this !  —  the  stars  forbid  it. 


Dim  burns  the  once  bright  star  of  Avenel, 

Dim  as  the  beacon  when  the  morn  is  nigh, 

And  the  o'er-wearied  warder  leaves  the  lighthouse; 

There  is  an  influence  sorrowful  and  fearful, 

That  dogs  its  downward  course.    Disastrous  passion, 

Fierce  hate  and  rivalry,  are  in  the  aspect 

That  lowers  upon  its  fortunes. 


Complain  not  on  me,  child  of  clay, 
If  to  thy  harm  I  yield  the  way. 
fio  321 


VERSES  FROM  THE  MONASTERY 

We,  who  soar  thy  sphere  above, ' 
Know  not  aught  of  hate  or  love; 
As  will  or  wisdom  rules  thy  mood, 
My  gifts  to  evil  turn,  or  good. 
When  Piercie  Shafton  boasteth  high, 
Let  this  token  meet  his  eye. 
The  sun  is  westering  from  the  dell. 
Thy  wish  is  granted  —  fare  thee  well ! 

VIII 

TO  THE   SAME 
From  Chapter  xx 

He,  whose  heart  for  vengeance  sued, 
Must  not  shrink  from  shedding  blood; 
The  knot  that  thou  hast  tied  with  word. 
Thou  must  loose  by  edge  of  sword. 


You  have  summoned  me  once,  you  have  summoned  me 

twice. 
And  without  e'er  a  summons  I  come  to  you  thrice ; 
Unasked  for,  unsued  for,  you  came  to  my  glen, 
Unsued  and  unasked,  I  am  with  you  again. 


322 


VERSES  FROM  THE  MONASTERY 

IX 

TO   MARY  AVENEL 
From  Chapter  xxx 

Maiden,  whose  sorrows  wail  the  Living  Dead, 

Whose  eyes  shall  commune  with  the  Dead  Ahve, 
Maiden,  attend!   Beneath  my  foot  Hes  hid 

The  Word,  the  Law,  the  Path  which  thou  dost  strive 
To  find,  and  canst  not  find.   Could  Spirits  shed 

Tears  for  their  lot,  it  were  my  lot  to  weep. 
Showing  the  road  which  I  shall  never  tread. 

Though  my  foot  points  it.   Sleep,  eternal  sleep, 
Dark,  long,  and  cold  forgetfulness  my  lot! 

But  do  not  thou  at  human  ills  repine; 
Secure  there  lies  full  guerdon  in  this  spot 

For  all  the  woes  that  wait  frail  Adam's  line  — 
Stoop,  then,  and  make  it  yours,  —  I  may  not  make  it 
mine! 

X 

TO  EDWARD   GLENDINNING 
From  Chapter  xxxii 

Thou  who  seek'st  my  fountain  lone. 
With  thoughts  and  hopes  thou  dar'st  not  own ; 
Whose  heart  within  leaped  wildly  glad. 
When  most  his  brow  seemed  dark  and  sad; 

323 


^VERSES  FROM  THE  MONASTERY 

Hie  thee  back,  thou  find'st  not  here 
Corpse  or  cofifin,  grave  or  bier; 
The  Dead  AUve  is  gone  and  fled : 
Go  thou  and  join  the  Living  Dead! 


The  Living  Dead,  whose  sober  brow 

Oft  shrouds  such  thoughts  as  thou  hast  now, 

Whose  hearts  within  are  seldom  cured 

Of  passions  by  their  vows  abjured; 

Where,  under  sad  and  solemn  show, 

Vain  hopes  are  nursed,  wild  wishes  glow. 

Seek  the  convent's  vaulted  room. 

Prayer  and  vigil  be  thy  doom: 

Doff  the  green,  and  don  the  grey, 

To  the  cloister  hence  away! 

XI 

THE  WHITE   lady's  FAREWELL 

From  Chapter  xxxvii 

Fare  thee  well,  thou  holly  green  * 
Thou  shalt  seldom  now  be  seen, 
With  all  thy  glittering  garlands  bending, 
As  to  greet  my  slow  descending. 
Startling  the  bewildered  hind, 
Who  sees  thee  wave  without  a  wind. 
324 


VERSES  FROM  THE  MONASTERY 

Farewell,  fountain!  now  not  long 
Shalt  thou  murmur  to  my  song, 
While  thy  crystal  bubbles,  glancing, 
Keep  the  time  in  mystic  dancing, 
Rise  and  swell,  are  burst  and  lost, 
Like  mortal  schemes  by  fortune  crossed. 

The  knot  of  fate  at  length  is  tied, 
The  churl  is  lord,  the  maid  is  bride! 
Vainly  did  my  magic  sleight 
Send  the  lover  from  her  sight; 
Wither  bush,  and  perish  well, 
Fallen  is  lofty  Avenel! 


GOLDTHRED'S  SONG 

FROM    KENILWORTH 

Published  in  1821 

From  Chapter  11.  '  After  some  brief  interval.  Master  Goldthred,  at  the 
earnest  instigation  of  mine  host,  and  the  joyous  concurrence  of  his  guests, 
indulged  the  company  with  the  following  morsel  of  melody:'  — 

Of  all  the  birds  on  bush  or  tree, 

Commend  me  to  the  owl, 
Since  he  may  best  ensample  be 
To  those  the  cup  that  trowl. 
For  when  the  sun  hath  left  the  west. 
He  chooses  the  tree  that  he  loves  the  best, 
And  he  whoops  out  his  song,  and  he  laughs  at  his  jest; 
Then  though  hours  be  late,  and  weather  foul. 
We  '11  drink  to  the  health  of  the  bonny,  bonny  owl. 

The  lark  is  but  a  bumpkin  fowl. 
He  sleeps  in  his  nest  till  morn; 
But  my  blessing  upon  the  jolly  owl, 
That  all  night  blows  his  horn. 
Then  up  with  your  cup  till  you  stagger  in  speech. 
And  match  me  this  catch  though  you  swagger  and 

screech, 
And  drink  till  you  wink,  my  merry  men  each ; 
For  though  hours  be  late,  and  weather  be  foul, 
We  '11  drink  to  the  health  of  the  bonny,  bonny  owl. 

326 


VERSES   FROM   THE   PIRATE 

Published  in  182 1 

I 

THE   SONG   OF  THE   TEMPEST 

From  Chapter  vi.  'A  Norwegian  invocation,  still  preserved  in  the  island  of 
Uist,  under  the  name  of  the  Song  of  the  Reim-kennar,  though  some  call  it  the 
Song  of  the  Tempest.  The  following  is  a  free  translation,  it  being  impossible  to 
render  literally  many  of  the  elliptical  and  metaphorical  terms  of  expression 
pecuUar  to  the  ancient  Northern  poetry':  — 

I 

Stern  eagle  of  the  far  northwest, 
Thou  that  bearest  in  thy  grasp  the  thunderbolt, 
Thou  whose  rushing  pinions  stir  ocean  to  madness, 
Thou  the  destroyer  of  herds,   thou  the  scatterer  of 

navies, 
Thou  the  breaker  down  of  towers, 
Amidst  the  scream  of  thy  rage. 
Amidst  the  rushing  of  thy  onward  wings, 
Though  thy  scream  be  loud  as  the  cry  of  a  perishing 

nation, 
Though  the  rushing  of  thy  wings  be  like  the  roar  of  ten 

thousand  waves, 
Yet  hear,  in  thine  ire  and  thy  haste. 
Hear  thou  the  voice  of  the  Reim-kennar. 


327 


VERSES   FROM  THE  PIRATE 

2 

Thou  hast  met  the  pine-trees  of  Drontheim, 
Their  dark-green  heads  lie  prostrate  beside  their   up- 
rooted stems; 
Thou  hast  met  the  rider  of  the  ocean, 
The  tall,  the  strong  bark  of  the  fearless  rover, 
And  she  has  struck  to  thee  the  topsail 
That  she  had  not  veiled  to  a  royal  armada; 
Thou  hast  met  the  tower  that  bears  its  crest  among  the 

clouds, 
The  battled  massive  tower  of  the  Jarl  of  former  days, 
And  the  cope-stone  of  the  turret 
Is  lying  upon  its  hospitable  hearth; 
But  thou  too  shalt  stoop,  proud  compeller  of  clouds. 
When  thou  hearest  the  voice  of  the  Reim-kennar. 

3 

There  are  verses  that  can  stop  the  stag  in  the  forest. 
Ay,  and  when  the  dark-coloured  dog  is  opening  on  his 

track; 
There  are  verses  can  make  the  wild  hawk  pause  on  his 

wing. 
Like  the  falcon  that  wears  the  hood  and  the  jesses, 
And  who  knows  the  shrill  whistle  of  the  fowler. 
Thou  who  canst  mock  at  the  scream  of  the  drowning 

mariner, 

328 


VERSES  FROM  THE  PIRATE 

And  the  crash  of  the  ravaged  forest, 

And  the  groan  of  the  overwhelmed  crowds, 

When  the  church  hath  fallen  in  the  moment  of  prayer, 

There  are  sounds  which  thou  also  must  list, 

When  they  are  chanted  by  the  voice  of  the  Reim-kennar. 

4 

Enough  of  woe  hast  thou  wrought  on  the  ocean, 
The  widows  wring  their  hands  on  the  beach; 
Enough  of  woe  hast  thou  wrought  on  the  land, 
The  husbandman  folds  his  arms  in  despair; 
Cease  thou  the  waving  of  thy  pinions, 
Let  the  ocean  repose  in  her  dark  strength; 
Cease  thou  the  flashing  of  thine  eye, 
Let  the  thunderbolt  sleep  in  the  armoury  of  Odin; 
Be  thou  still  at  my  bidding,  viewless  racer  of  the  north- 
western heaven, — 
Sleep  thou  at  the  voice  of  Noma  the  Reim-kennar. 

5 
Eagle  of  the  far  northwestern  waters, 
Thou  hast  heard  the  voice  of  the  Reim-kennar, 
Thou  hast  closed  thy  wide  sails  at  her  bidding. 
And  folded  them  in  peace  by  thy  side. 
My  blessing  be  on  thy  retiring  path ; 
When  thou  stoopest  from  thy  place  on  high, 

329 


VERSES  FROM  THE  PIRATE 

Soft  be  thy  slumbers  in  the  caverns  of  the  unknown 

ocean, 
Rest  till  destiny  shall  again  awaken  thee; 
Eagle  of  the  northwest,  thou  hast  heard  the  voice  of  the 

Reim-kennar. 


II 

HALCRO'S   SONG 

From  Chapter  xii 

Farewell  to  Northmaven, 

Grey  Hillswicke,  farewell! 
To  the  calms  of  thy  haven, 

The  storms  on  thy  fell  — 
To  each  breeze  that  can  vary 

The  mood  of  thy  main, 
And  to  thee,  bonny  Mary! 

We  meet  not  again! 

Farewell  the  wild  ferry. 

Which  Hacon  could  brave 
When  the  peaks  of  the  Skerry 

Were  white  in  the  wave. 
There 's  a  maid  may  look  over 

These  wild  waves  in  vain 
For  the  skiff  of  her  lover  — 

He  comes  not  again! 
330 


VERSES  FROM  THE  PIRATE 

The  vows  thou  hast  broke, 

On  the  wild  currents  fling  them; 
On  the  quicksand  and  rock 

Let  the  mermaiden  sing  them : 
New  sweetness  they  '11  give  her 

Bewildering  strain; 
But  there's  one  who  will  never 

Believe  them  again. 

O,  were  there  an  island, 

Though  ever  so  wild, 
Where  woman  could  smile,  and 

No  man  be  beguiled  — 
Too  tempting  a  snare 

To  poor  mortals  were  given ; 
And  the  hope  would  fix  there 

That  should  anchor  on  heaven. 


Ill 

SONG   OF  HAROLD  HARFAGER 
From  Chapter  xv 

The  sun  is  rising  dimly  red, 
The  wind  is  wailing  low  and  dread; 
From  his  cliff  the  eagle  sallies, 
Leaves  the  wolf  his  darksome  valleys; 
331 


VERSES  FROM  THE  PIRATE 

In  the  mist  the  ravens  hover, 
Peep  the  wild  dogs  from  the  cover, 
Screaming,  croaking,  baying,  yelling. 
Each  in  his  wild  accents  telling, 
'Soon  we  feast  on  dead  and  dying, 
Fair-haired  Harold's  flag  is  flying.' 

Many  a  crest  in  air  is  streaming, 
Many  a  helmet  darkly  gleaming. 
Many  an  arm  the  axe  uprears. 
Doomed  to  hew  the  wood  of  spears. 
All  along  the  crowded  ranks. 
Horses  neigh  and  armour  clanks ; 
Chiefs  are  shouting,  clarions  ringing. 
Louder  still  the  bard  is  singing, 
'Gather,  footmen;  gather,  horsemen, 
To  the  field,  ye  valiant  Norsemen! 

'Halt  ye  not  for  food  or  slumber, 
View  not  vantage,  count  not  number; 
Jolly  reapers,  forward  still, 
Grow  the  crop  on  vale  or  hill. 
Thick  or  scattered,  stiff  or  lithe, 
It  shall  down  before  the  scythe. 
Forward  with  your  sickles  bright, 
Reap  the  harvest  of  the  fight. 
332^ 


VERSES   FROM  THE  PIRATE 

Onward  footmen,  onward  horsemen, 
To  the  charge,  ye  gallant  Norsemen! 

'Fatal  Choosers  of  the  Slaughter, 
O'er  you  hovers  Odin's  daughter; 
Hear  the  choice  she  spreads  before  ye  — 
Victory,  and  wealth,  and  glory; 
Or  old  Valhalla's  roaring  hail, 
Her  ever-circling  mead  and  ale, 
Where  for  eternity  unite 
The  joys  of  wassail  and  of  fight. 
Headlong  forward,  foot  and  horsemen, 
Charge  and  fight,  and  die  like  Norsemen! ' 

IV 

SONG  OF  THE  MERMAIDS  AND  MERMEN 

From  Chapter  xvi 

MERMAID 

Fathoms  deep  beneath  the  wave, 

Stringing  beads  of  glistering  pearl. 
Singing  the  achievements  brave 

Of  many  an  old  Norwegian  earl; 
Dwelling  where  the  tempest's  raving 

Falls  as  light  upon  our  ear 
As  the  sigh  of  lover,  craving 

Pity  from  his  lady  dear, 

333 


VERSES  FROM  THE  PIRATE 

Children  of  wild  Thule,  we, 
From  the  deep  caves  of  the  sea, 
As  the  lark  springs  from  the  lea. 
Hither  come,  to  share  your  glee. 


MERMAN 

From  reining  of  the  water-horse, 

That  bounded  till  the  waves  were  foaming, 
Watching  the  infant  tempest's  course, 

Chasing  the  sea-snake  in  his  roaming; 
From  winding  charge-notes  on  the  shell. 

When  the  huge  whale  and  sword-fish  duel, 
Or  tolling  shroudless  seamen's  knell. 

When  the  winds  and  waves  are  cruel; 
Children  of  wild  Thule,  we 
Have  ploughed  such  furrows  on  the  sea 
As  the  steer  draws  on  the  lea. 
And  hither  we  come  to  share  your  glee. 

MERMAIDS   AND   MERMEN 

We  heard  you  in  our  twilight  caves, 

A  hundred  fathom  deep  below. 
For  notes  of  joy  can  pierce  the  waves, 

That  drown  each  sound  of  war  and  woe. 
Those  who  dwell  beneath  the  sea 

Love  the  sons  of  Thule  well ; 
334 


VERSES   FROM  THE  PIRATE 

Thus,  to  aid  your  mirth,  bring  we 

Dance  and  song  and  sounding  shell. 
Children  of  dark  Thule,  know, 
Those  who  dwell  by  haaf  and  voe, 
Where  your  daring  shallops  row, 
Come  to  share  the  festal  show. 


V 

norna's  verses 

From  Chapter  xix 

For  leagues  along  the  watery  way, 

Through  gulf  and  stream  my  course  has  been; 
The  billows  know  my  Runic  lay. 

And  smooth  their  crests  to  silent  green. 

The  billows  know  my  Runic  lay. 

The  gulf  grows  smooth,  the  stream  is  still; 
But  human  hearts,  more  wild  than  they, 

Know  but  the  rule  of  wayward  will. 

One  hour  is  mine,  in  all  the  year, 

To  tell  my  woes,  and  one  alone; 
When  gleams  this  magic  lamp,  't  is  here, 

When  dies  the  mystic  light,  't  is  gone. 
335 


VERSES   FROM  THE  PIRATE 

Daughters  of  northern  Magnus,  hail! 

The  lamp  is  lit,  the  flame  is  clear; 
To  you  I  come  to  tell  my  tale, 

Awake,  arise,  my  tale  to  hear! 


Dwellers  of  the  mountain,  rise, 
Trold  the  powerful,  Haims  the  wise! 
Ye  who  taught  weak  woman's  tongue 
Words  that  sway  the  wise  and  strong,  — 
Ye  who  taught  weak  woman's  hand 
How  to  wield  the  magic  wand, 
And  wake  the  gales  on  Foulah's  steep. 
Or  lull  wild  Sumburgh's  waves  to  sleep! 
Still  are  ye  yet?  Not  yours  the  power 
Ye  knew  in  Odin's  mightier  hour. 
What  are  ye  now  but  empty  names, 
Powerful  Trold,  sagacious  Haims, 
That,  lightly  spoken,  and  lightly  heard, 
Float  on  the  air  like  thistle's  beard? 


'When  I  awoke,  I  saw,  through  the  dim  light  which  the  upper  aperture 
admitted,  the  unshapely  and  indistinct  form  of  Trold  the  dwarf.  ...  He  spoke, 
and  his  words  were  of  Norse,  so  old  that  few,  save  my  father  or  I  myself,  could 
have  comprehended  their  import.' 

A  thousand  winters  dark  have  flown. 

Since  o'er  the  threshold  of  my  stone 

A  votaress  passed,  my  power  to  own. 

336 


VERSES   FROM  THE  PIRATE 

Visitor  bold 

Of  the  mansion  of  Trold, 

Maiden  haughty  of  heart. 
Who  hast  hither  presumed, 
Ungifted,  undoomed, 

Thou  shalt  not  depart. 
The  power  thou  dost  covet 

O'er  tempest  and  wave, 
Shall  be  thine,  thou  proud  maiden, 
By  beach  and  by  cave,  — 
By  stack  and  by  skerry,  by  noup  and  by  voe. 
By  air  and  by  wick,  and  by  helyer  and  gio. 
And  by  every  wild  shore  which  the  northern  winds 
know. 

And  the  northern  tides  lave. 
But  though  this  shall  be  given  thee,  thou  desper- 
ately brave, 
I  doom  thee  that  never  the  gift  thou  shalt  have, 
Till  thou  reave  thy  life's  giver 
Of  the  gift  which  he  gave. 

'I  answered  him  in  nearly  the  same  strain.' 

Dark  are  thy  words,  and  severe, 

Thou  dweller  in  the  stone; 
But  trembling  and  fear 

To  her  are  unknown, 
50  337 


VERSES  FROM  THE  PIRATE 

Who  hath  sought  thee  here, 
In  thy  dwelling  lone. 

Come  what  comes  soever, 
The  worst  I  can  endure; 

Life  is  but  a  short  fever, 
And  death  is  the  cure. 


VI 

HALCRO  AND   NORNA 

From  Chapter  xxi 

CLAUD  HALCRO 

Mother  darksome,  mother  dread. 
Dweller  on  the  Fitful  Head, 
Thou  canst  see  what  deeds  are  done 
Under  the  never-setting  sun. 
Look  through  sleet,  and  look  through  frost, 
Look  to  Greenland's  caves  and  coast,  — 
By  the  iceberg  is  a  sail 
Chasing  of  the  swarthy  whale ; 
Mother  doubtful,  mother  dread. 
Tell  us,  has  the  good  ship  sped? 

NORNA 

The  thought  of  the  aged  is  ever  on  gear, 
On  his  fishing,  his  furrow,  his  flock,  and  his  steer; 

33S 


VERSES  FROM  THE  PIRATE 

But  thrive  may  his  fishing,  flock,  furrow,  and  herd, 
While  the  aged  for  anguish  shall  tear  his  grey  beard. 

The  ship,  well-laden  as  bark  need  be, 

Lies  deep  in  the  furrow  of  the  Iceland  sea ; 

The  breeze  for  Zetland  blows  fair  and  soft, 

And  gaily  the  garland  is  fluttering  aloft: 

Seven  good  fishes  have  spouted  their  last, 

And  their  jaw-bones  are  hanging  to  yard  and  mast: 

Two  are  for  Lerwick,  and  two  for  Kirkwall, 

And  three  for  Burgh-Westra,  the  choicest  of  all. 

CLAUD   HALCRO 

Mother  doubtful,  mother  dread, 
Dweller  of  the  Fitful  Head, 
Thou  hast  conned  full  many  a  rhyme, 
That  lives  upon  the  surge  of  time: 
Tell  me,  shall  my  lays  be  sung. 
Like  Hacon's  of  the  golden  tongue, 
Long  after  Halcro's  dead  and  gone? 
Or,  shall  Hialtland's  minstrel  own 
One  note  to  rival  glorious  John? 

NORN  A 

The  infant  loves  the  rattle's  noise; 
Age,  double  childhood,  hath  its  toys; 
339 


VERSES   FROM  THE  PIRATE 

But  different  far  the  descant  rings, 
As  strikes  a  different  hand  the  strings. 
The  eagle  mounts  the  polar  sky : 
The  Imber-goose,  unskilled  to  fly, 
Must  be  content  to  glide  along, 
Where  seal  and  sea-dog  list  his  song. 

CLAUD   HALCRO 

Be  mine  the  Imber-goose  to  play. 
And  haunt  lone  cave  and  silent  bay; 
The  archer's  aim  so  shall  I  shun; 
So  shall  I  'scape  the  levelled  gun ; 
Content  my  verses'  tuneless  jingle 
With  Thule's  sounding  tides  to  mingle, 
While,  to  the  ear  of  wondering  wight, 
Upon  the  distant  headland's  height, 
Softened  by  murmur  of  the  sea, 
The  rude  sounds  seem  like  harmony! 

Mother  doubtful,  mother  dread. 
Dweller  of  the  Fitful  Head, 
A  gallant  bark  from  far  abroad. 
Saint  Magnus  hath  her  in  his  road, 
With  guns  and  firelocks  not  a  few: 
A  silken  and  a  scarlet  crew, 
Deep  stored  with  precious  merchandise 
Of  gold  and  goods  of  rare  device: 
340 


VERSES   FROM  THE  PIRATE 

What  interest  hath  our  comrade  bold 
In  bark  and  crew,  in  goods  and  gold? 


NORNA 

Gold  is  ruddy,  fair,  and  free, 

Blood  is  crimson,  and  dark  to  see; 

I  looked  out  on  Saint  Magnus  bay, 

And  I  saw  a  falcon  that  struck  her  prey; 

A  gobbet  of  flesh  in  her  beak  she  bore, 

And  talons  and  singles  are  dripping  with  gore; 

Let  him  that  asks  after  them  look  on  his  hand, 

And  if  there  is  blood  on  't,  he 's  one  of  their  band. 

CLAUD   HALCRO 

Mother  doubtful,  mother  dread, 
Dweller  of  the  Fitful  Head, 
Well  thou  know'st  it  is  thy  task 
To  tell  what  Beauty  will  not  ask; 
Then  steep  thy  words  in  wine  and  milk. 
And  weave  a  doom  of  gold  and  silk; 
For  we  would  know,  shall  Brenda  prove 
In  love,  and  happy  in  her  love? 

NORNA 

Untouched  by  love,  the  maiden's  breast 
Is  like  the  snow  on  Rona's  crest, 
341 


VERSES  FROM  THE  PIRATE 

High  seated  in  the  middle  sky, 
In  bright  and  barren  purity; 
But  by  the  sunbeam  gently  kissed, 
Scarce  by  the  gazing  eye  't  is  missed, 
Ere,  down  the  lonely  valley  stealing, 
Fresh  grass  and  growth  its  course  revealing, 
It  cheers  the  flock,  revives  the  flower, 
And  decks  some  happy  shepherd's  bower. 

MAGNUS   TROIL 

Mother,  speak,  and  do  not  tarry, 
Here 's  a  maiden  fain  would  marry. 
Shall  she  marry,  ay  or  not? 
If  she  marry,  what's  her  lot? 

NORNA 

Untouched  by  love,  the  maiden's  breast 
Is  like  the  snow  on  Rona's  crest ; 
So  pure,  so  free  from  earthly  dye. 
It  seems,  whilst  leaning  on  the  sky. 
Part  of  the  heaven  to  which  't  is  nigh ; 
But  passion,  like  the  wild  March  rain. 
May  soil  the  wreath  with  many  a  stain. 
We  gaze  —  the  lovely  vision 's  gone : 
A  torrent  fills  the  bed  of  stone, 
That,  hurrying  to  destruction's  shock, 
Leaps  headlong  from  the  lofty  rock. 
342 


VERSES  FROM  THE  PIRATE 

VII 

THE  fishermen's   SONG 

From  Chapter  xxii.  'While  they  were  yet  within  hearing  of  the  shore,  they 
chanted  an  ancient  Norse  ditty,  appropriate  to  the  occasion,  of  which  Claud 
Halcro  had  executed  the  following  literal  translation':  — 

Farewell,  merry  maidens,  to  song  and  to  laugh, 
For  the  brave  lads  of  Westra  are  bound  to  the  Haaf ; 
And  we  must  have  labour,  and  hunger,  and  pain. 
Ere  we  dance  with  the  maids  of  Dunrossness  again. 

For  now,  in  our  trim  boats  of  Noroway  deal, 
We  must  dance  on  the  waves,  with  the  porpoise  and  seal ; 
The  breeze  it  shall  pipe,  so  it  pipe  not  too  high. 
And  the  gull  be  our  songstress  whene'er  she  flits  by. 

Sing  on,  my  brave  bird,  while  we  follow,  like  thee, 
By  bank,  shoal,  and  quicksand,  the  swarms  of  the  sea; 
And  when  twenty-score  fishes  are  straining  our  line, 
Sing  louder,  brave  bird,  for  their  spoils  shall  be  thine. 

We'll  sing  while  we  bait,  and  we'll  sing  when  we  haul, 
For  the  deeps  of  the  Haaf  have  enough  for  us  all ; 
There  is  torsk  for  the  gentle,  and  skate  for  the  carle, 
And  there's  wealth  for  bold  Magnus,  the  son  of  the  earl. 

Huzza!  my  brave  comrades,  give  way  for  the  Haaf, 
We  shall  sooner  come  back  to  the  dance  and  the  laugh; 

343 


VERSES   FROM  THE  PIRATE 

For  life  without  mirth  is  a  lamp  without  oil ; 
Then,  mirth  and  long  life  to  the  bold  Magnus  Troil! 


VIII 

Cleveland's  songs 

From  Chapter  xxiii 

Love  wakes  and  weeps 

While  Beauty  sleeps: 
O,  for  Music's  softest  numbers. 

To  prompt  a  theme 

For  Beauty's  dream, 
Soft  as  the  pillow  of  her  slumbers! 

Through  groves  of  palm 

Sigh  gales  of  balm. 
Fire-flies  on  the  air  are  wheeling; 

While  through  the  gloom 

Comes  soft  perfume, 
The  distant  beds  of  flowers  revealing. 

O  wake  and  live! 

No  dream  can  give 
A  shadowed  bliss,  the  real  excelling; 

No  longer  sleep. 

From  lattice  peep. 
And  list  the  tale  that  Love  is  telling. 

344 


VERSES  FROM  THE  PIRATE 

Farewell !  farewell !  the  voice  you  hear 
Has  left  its  last  soft  tone  with  you,  — 

Its  next  must  join  the  seaward  cheer, 
And  shout  among  the  shouting  crew. 

The  accents  which  I  scarce  could  form 
Beneath  your  frown's  controlling  check 

Must  give  the  word,  above  the  storm, 
To  cut  the  mast  and  clear  the  wreck. 

The  timid  eye  I  dared  not  raise,  — 

The  hand,  that  shook  when  pressed  to  thine, 
Must  point  the  guns  upon  the  chase  — 

Must  bid  the  deadly  cutlass  shine. 

To  all  I  love,  or  hope,  or  fear,  — 

Honour,  or  own,  a  long  adieu! 
To  all  that  life  has  soft  and  dear, 

Farewell !  save  memory  of  you ! 

IX 

HALCRO'S   VERSES 
From  Chapter  xxin 

And  you  shall  deal  the  funeral  dole; 

Ay,  deal  it,  mother  mine, 
To  weary  body  and  to  heavy  soul. 

The  white  bread  and  the  wine. 
345 


VERSES   FROM  THE  PIRATE 

And  you  shall  deal  my  horses  of  pride ; 

Ay,  deal  them,  mother  mine; 
And  you  shall  deal  my  lands  so  wide, 

And  deal  my  castles  nine; 

But  deal  not  vengeance  for  the  deed, 

And  deal  not  for  the  crime : 
The  body  to  its  place,  and  the  soul  to  Heaven's 
grace 

And  the  rest  in  God's  own  time. 


Saint  Magnus  control  thee,  that  martyr  of  treason; 
Saint  Ronan  rebuke  thee,  with  rhyme  and  with  reason; 
By  the  mass  of  Saint  Martin,  the  might  of  Saint  Mary, 
Be  thou  gone,  or  thy  weird  shall  be  worse  if  thou  tarry! 
If  of  good,  go  hence  and  hallow  thee; 
If  of  ill,  let  the  earth  swallow  thee; 
If  thou'rt  of  air,  let  the  grey  mist  fold  thee; 
If  of  earth,  let  the  swart  mine  hold  thee; 
If  a  Pixie,  seek  thy  ring; 
If  a  Nixie,  seek  thy  spring; 
If  on  middle  earth  thou'st  been 
Slave  of  sorrow,  shame,  and  sin. 
Hast  ate  the  bread  of  toil  and  strife, 
And  dree'd  the  lot  which  men  call  life; 
Begone  to  thy  stone !  for  thy  coffin  is  scant  of  thee, 
The  worm,  thy  play-fellow,  wails  for  the  want  of  thee: 

346 


VERSES  FROM  THE  PIRATE 

Hence,  houseless  ghost;  let  the  earth  hide  thee, 

Till  Michael  shall  blow  the  blast,  see  that  there  thou 

bide  thee! 
Phantom,  fly  hence!  take  the  Cross  for  a  token. 
Hence  pass  till  Hallowmass !  —  my  spell  is  spoken. 


Where  corpse-light 

Dances  bright, 

Be  it  by  day  or  night. 

Be  it  by  light  or  dark. 

There  shall  corpse  lie  stiff  and  stark. 


Menseful  maiden  ne'er  should  rise, 
Till  the  first  beam  tinge  the  skies; 
Silk-fringed  eyelids  still  should  close, 
Till  the  sun  has  kissed  the  rose; 
Maiden's  foot  we  should  not  view, 
Marked  with  tiny  print  on  dew. 
Till  the  opening  flowerets  spread 
Carpet  meet  for  beauty's  tread. 

X 

norna's  incantations 

From  Chapter  xxv 

Champion,  famed  for  warlike  toil, 
Art  thou  silent,  Ribolt  Troil? 
Sand,  and  dust,  and  pebbly  stones 
Are  leaving  bare  thy  giant  bones. 
347 


VERSES  FROM  THE  PIRATE 

Who  dared  touch  the  wild  bear's  skin 
Ye  slumbered  on,  while  life  was  in? 
A  woman  now,  or  babe,  may  come 
And  cast  the  covering  from  thy  tomb. 

Yet  be  not  wrathful,  Chief,  nor  blight 

Mine  eyes  or  ears  with  sound  or  sight! 

I  come  not  with  unhallowed  tread, 

To  wake  the  slumbers  of  the  dead, 

Or  lay  thy  giant  relics  bare ; 

But  what  I  seek  thou  well  canst  spare. 

Be  it  to  my  hand  allowed 

To  shear  a  merk's  weight  from  thy  shroud ; 

Yet  leave  thee  sheeted  lead  enough 

To  shield  thy  bones  from  weather  rough. 

See,  I  draw  my  magic  knife: 

Never  while  thou  wert  in  life 

Laidst  thou  still  for  sloth  or  fear, 

When  point  and  edge  were  glittering  near; 

See,  the  cerements  now  I  sever: 

Waken  now,  or  sleep  for  ever! 

Thou  wilt  not  wake:  the  deed  is  done! 

The  prize  I  sought  is  fairly  won. 

Thanks,  Ribolt,  thanks,  —  for  this  the  sea 
Shall  smooth  its  rufifled  crest  for  thee, 

348 


VERSES  FROM  THE  PIRATE 

And  while  afar  its  billows  foam, 
Subside  to  peace  near  Ribolt's  tomb. 
Thanks,  Ribolt,  thanks  —  for  this  the  might 
Of  wild  winds  raging  at  their  height, 
When  to  thy  place  of  slumber  nigh, 
Shall  soften  to  a  lullaby. 

She,  the  dame  of  doubt  and  dread, 
Noma  of  the  Fitful  Head, 
Mighty  in  her  own  despite. 
Miserable  in  her  might; 
In  despair  and  frenzy  great. 
In  her  greatness  desolate ; 
Wisest,  wickedest  who  lives. 
Well  can  keep  the  word  she  gives. 

XI 

THE   SAME,   AT  THE   MEETING  WITH  MINNA 
From  Chapter  xxvm 

Thou  so  needful,  yet  so  dread, 
With  cloudy  crest,  and  wing  of  red ; 
Thou,  without  whose  genial  breath 
The  North  would  sleep  the  sleep  of  death; 
Who  deign'st  to  warm  the  cottage  hearth, 
Yet  hurlst  proud  palaces  to  earth ; 
Brightest,  keenest  of  the  Powers 
Which  form  and  rule  this  world  of  ours, 
349 


VERSES  FROM  THE  PIRATE 

With  my  rhyme  of  Runic,  I 
Thank  thee  for  thy  agency. 

Old  Reimkennar,  to  thy  art 
Mother  Hertha  sends  her  part; 
She,  whose  gracious  bounty  gives 
Needful  food  for  all  that  lives. 
From  the  deep  mine  of  the  North 
Came  the  mystic  metal  forth, 
Doomed,  amidst  disjointed  stones, 
Long  to  cere  a  champion's  bones, 
Disinhumed  my  charms  to  aid : 
Mother  Earth,  my  thanks  are  paid. 


Girdle  of  our  islands  dear, 
Elements  of  Water,  hear ! 
Thou  whose  power  can  overwhelm 
Broken  mounds  and  ruined  realm 

On  the  lowly  Belgian  strand; 
All  thy  fiercest  rage  can  never 
Of  our  soil  a  furlong  sever 

From  our  rock-defended  land; 
Play  then  gently  thou  thy  part, 
To  assist  old  Noma's  art. 


Elements,  each  other  greeting, 

Gifts  and  powers  attend  your  meeting! 

350 


VERSES   FROM  THE  PIRATE 

Thou,  that  over  billows  dark 
Safely  send'st  the  fisher's  bark: 
Giving  him  a  path  and  motion 
Through  the  wilderness  of  ocean; 
Thou,  that  when  the  billows  brave  ye, 
O'er  the  shelves  canst  drive  the  navy: 
Didst  thou  chafe  as  one  neglected, 
While  thy  brethren  were  respected? 
To  appease  thee,  see,  I  tear 
This  full  grasp  of  grizzled  hair; 
Oft  thy  breath  hath  through  it  sung, 
Softening  to  my  magic  tongue ; 
Now,  't  is  thine  to  bid  it  fly 
Through  the  wide  expanse  of  sky, 
'Mid  the  countless  swarms  to  sail 
Of  wild-fowl  wheeling  on  thy  gale ; 
Take  thy  portion  and  rejoice: 
Spirit,  thou  hast  heard  my  voice! 


She  who  sits  by  haunted  well 
Is  subject  to  the  Nixie's  spell; 
She  who  walks  on  lonely  beach. 
To  the  Mermaid's  charmed  speech; 
She  who  walks  round  ring  of  green 
Offends  the  peevish  Fairy  Queen; 
And  she  who  takes  rest  in  the  Dwarfie's  cave 
A  weary  weird  of  woe  shall  have. 
351 


VERSES  FROM  THE  PIRATE 

By  ring,  by  spring,  by  cave,  by  shore, 

Minna  Troil  has  braved  all  this  and  more; 

And  yet  hath  the  root  of  her  sorrow  and  ill 

A  source  that 's  more  deep  and  more  mystical  still. 

Thou  art  within  a  demon's  hold. 

More  wise  than  Heims,  more  strong  than  Trold; 

No  siren  sings  so  sweet  as  he ; 

No  fay  springs  lighter  on  the  lea; 

No  elfin  power  hath  half  the  art 

To  soothe,  to  move,  to  wring  the  heart. 

Life-blood  from  the  cheek  to  drain, 

Drench  the  eye,  and  dry  the  vein. 

Maiden,  ere  we  farther  go. 

Dost  thou  note  me,  ay  or  no? 

MINNA 

I  mark  thee,  my  mother,  both  word,  look,  and  sign; 
Speak  on  with  thy  riddle  —  to  read  it  be  mine. 

NORNA 

Mark  me!  for  the  word  I  speak 
Shall  bring  the  colour  to  thy  cheek. 
This  leaden  heart,  so  light  of  cost, 
The  symbol  of  a  treasure  lost, 
Thou  shalt  wear  in  hope  and  in  peace, 
That  the  cause  of  your  sickness  and  sorrow  may  cease, 
When  crimson  foot  meets  crimson  hand 
In  the  Martyr's  aisle,  and  in  Orkney  land. 

352 


VERSES  FROM  THE  PIRATE 

Be  patient,  be  patient,  for  Patience  hath  power 

To  ward  us  in  danger,  like  mantle  in  shower; 

A  fairy  gift  you  best  may  hold 

In  a  chain  of  fairy  gold; 

The  chain  and  the  gift  are  each  a  true  token, 

That  not  without  warrant  old  Noma  hath  spoken; 

But  thy  nearest  and  dearest  must  never  behold  them, 

Till  time  shall  accompUsh  the  truths  I  have  told  them. 


XII 

BRYCE   SNAILSFOOT'S  ADVERTISEMENT 
From  Chapter  xxxii 

Poor  sinners  whom  the  snake  deceives 
Are  fain  to  cover  them  with  leaves. 
Zetland  hath  no  leaves,  't  is  true. 
Because  that  trees  are  none,  or  few; 
But  we  have  flax  and  taits  of  woo', 
For  linen  cloth  and  wadmaal  blue; 
And  we  have  many  of  foreign  knacks 
Of  finer  waft  than  woo'  or  flax. 
Ye  gallanty  Lambmas  lads,  appear. 
And  bring  your  Lambmas  sisters  here, 
Bryce  Snailsfoot  spares  not  cost  or  care, 
To  pleasure  every  gentle  pair. 


ON    ETTRICK    FOREST'S    MOUNTAINS  DUN 

1822 

Written  after  a  week's  shooting  and  fishing,  in  which  the  Poet  had  beei 
engaged  with  some  friends. 

On  Ettrick  Forest's  mountains  dun 
'T  is  blithe  to  hear  the  sportsman's  gun, 
And  seek  the  heath-frequenting  brood 
Far  through  the  noonday  soHtude; 
By  many  a  cairn  and  trenched  mound 
Where  chiefs  of  yore  sleep  lone  and  sound, 
And  springs  where  grey-haired  shepherds  tell 
That  still  the  fairies  love  to  dwell. 


Along  the  silver  streams  of  Tweed 
'T  is  blithe  the  mimic  fly  to  lead, 
When  to  the  hook  the  salmon  springs. 
And  the  line  whistles  through  the  rings; 
The  boiling  eddy  see  him  try, 
Then  dashing  from  the  current  high, 
Till  watchful  eye  and  cautious  hand 
Have  led  his  wasted  strength  to  land. 

'T  is  blithe  along  the  midnight  tide 
With  stalwart  arm  the  boat  to  guide; 
354 


ON  ETTRICK  FOREST'S  MOUNTAINS  DUN 

On  high  the  dazzling  blaze  to  rear, 
And  heedful  plunge  the  barbM  spear; 
Rock,  wood,  and  scaur,  emerging  bright, 
Fling  on  the  stream  their  ruddy  light, 
And  from  the  bank  our  band  appears 
Like  Genii  armed  with  fiery  spears. 

*T  is  blithe  at  eve  to  tell  the  tale 

How  we  succeed  and  how  we  fail. 

Whether  at  Alwyn's  ^  lordly  meal, 

Or  lowlier  board  of  Ashestiel ;  ^ 

While  the  gay  tapers  cheerly  shine, 

Bickers  the  fire  and  flows  the  wine  - 

Days  free  froiji  thought  and  nights  from  care, 

My  blessing  on  the  Forest  fair. 

*  Alwyn,  the  seat  of  the  Lord  Soraerville. 

*  The  Poet's  residence  at  that  time. 


THE   MAID   OF   ISLA 

1822 

AiH  — '  The  Maid  of  Isla. ' 
Written  for  Mr.  George  Thomson's  Scottish  Melodies. 

O  Maid  of  Isla,  from  the  cliff 

That  looks  on  troubled  wave  and  sky, 
Dost  thou  not  see  yon  little  skiff 

Contend  with  ocean  gallantly? 
Now  beating  'gainst  the  breeze  and  surge. 

And  steeped  her  leeward  deck  in  foam, 
Why  does  she  war  unequal  urge?  — 

O  Isla's  maid,  she  seeks  her  home. 

O  Isla's  maid,  yon  sea-bird  mark, 

Her  white  wing  gleams  through  mist  and  spray 
Against  the  storm-cloud  lowering  dark. 

As  to  the  rock  she  wheels  away ;  — 
Where  clouds  are  dark  and  billows  rave, 

Why  to  the  shelter  should  she  come 
Of  cliff,  exposed  to  wind  and  wave?  — 

O  maid  of  Isla,  't  is  her  home! 

As  breeze  and  tide  to  yonder  skiff,. 
Thou  'rt  adverse  to  the  suit  I  bring, 
356 


4 


THE  MAID  OF  ISLA 

And  cold  as  is  yon  wintry  cliff 

Where  seabirds  close  their  wearied  wing. 
Yet  cold  as  rock,  unkind  as  wave, 

Still,  Isla's  maid,  to  thee  I  come; 
For  in  thy  love  or  in  his  grave 

Must  Allan  Vourich  find  his  home. 


FAREWELL  TO  THE   MUSE 

1822 
Enchantress,  farewell,  who  so  oft  has  decoyed  me 

At  the  close  of  the  evening  through  woodlands  to 
roam, 
Where  the  forester  lated  with  wonder  espied  me 

Explore  the  wild  scenes  he  was  quitting  for  home. 
Farewell,  and  take  with  thee  thy  numbers  wild  speaking 

The  language  alternate  of  rapture  and  woe: 
O !  none  but  some  lover  whose  heart-strings  are  breaking 

The  pang  that  I  feel  at  our  parting  can  know! 

Each  joy  thou  couldst  double,  and  when  there  came 
sorrow 

Or  pale  disappointment  to  darken  my  way. 
What  voice  was  like  thine,  that  could  sing  of  to-morrow 

Till  forgot  in  the  strain  was  the  grief  of  to-day ! 
But  when  friends  drop  around  us  in  life's  weary  waning, 

The  grief,  Queen  of  Numbers,  thou  canst  not  assuage; 
Nor  the  gradual  estrangement  of  those  yet  remaining, 

The  languor  of  pain  and  the  chillness  of  age. 

'T  was  thou  that  once  taught  me  in  accents  bewailing 

To  sing  how  a  warrior  lay  stretched  on  the  plain, 

358 


FAREWELL  TO  THE  MUSE 

And  a  maiden  hung  o'er  him  with  aid  unavailing. 
And  held  to  his  lips  the  cold  goblet  in  vain; 

As  vain  thy  enchantments,  O  Queen  of  wild  Numbers, 
To  a  bard  when  the  reign  of  his  fancy  is  o'er, 

And  the  quick  pulse  of  feeling  in  apathy  slumbers  — 
Farewell,  then,  Enchantress;  —  I  meet  thee  no  more. 


NIGEL'S   INITIATION   AT  WHITEFRIARS 

From  Chapter  xvn  of  The  Fortunes  of  Nigel,  published  in  1822. 

Your  suppliant,  by  name 
Nigel  Grahame, 
In  fear  of  mishap 
From  a  shoulder-tap; 
And  dreading  a  claw 
From  the  talons  of  law, 

That  are  sharper  than  briars; 
His  freedom  to  sue 
'  And  rescue  by  you: 
Through  weapon  and  wit, 
From  warrant  and  writ, 
From  bailiff's  hand. 
From  tipstaff's  wand, 

Is  come  hither  to  Whitefriars. 


By  spigot  and  barrel. 

By  bilboe  and  buff. 
Thou  art  sworn  to  the  quarrel 

Of  the  blades  of  the  Huff. 
For  Whitefriars  and  its  claims 

To  be  champion  or  martyr, 
360 


NIGEL'S  INITIATION  AT  WHITEFRIARS 

And  to  fight  for  its  dames 
Like  a  Knight  of  the  Garter. 


From  the  touch  of  the  tip, 

From  the  blight  of  the  warrant. 
From  the  watchmen  who  skip 

On  the  harman-beck's  errand, 
From  the  bailiff's  cramp  speech, 

That  makes  man  a  thrall, 
I  charm  thee  from  each, 

And  I  charm  thee  from  all. 
Thy  freedom 's  complete 

As  a  blade  of  the  Huff, 
To  be  cheated  and  cheat. 

To  be  cuffed  and  to  cuff; 
To  stride,  swear,  and  swagger, 
To  drink  till  you  stagger. 

To  stare  and  to  stab, 
And  to  brandish  your  dagger 

In  the  cause  of  your  drab; 
To  walk  wool-ward  in  winter, 

Drink  brandy,  and  smoke. 
And  go  fresco  in  summer 

For  want  of  a  cloak; 
To  eke  out  your  living 

By  the  wag  of  your  elbow 
361 


NIGEL'S  INITIATION  AT  WHITEFRIARS 

By  fulham  and  gourd, 

And  by  baring  of  bilboe; 
To  live  by  your  shifts, 

And  to  swear  by  your  honour 
Are  the  freedom  and  gifts 

Of  which  I  am  the  donor. 


CARLE,   NOW  THE   KING'S   COME 

BEING  NEW  WORDS   TO  AN   AULD   SPRING 

1822 

PART  FIRST 

The  news  has  flown  frae  mouth  to  mouth, 
The  North  for  ance  has  banged  the  South ; 
The  deil  a  Scotsman  's  die  o'  drouth ; 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come! 

CHORUS 

Carle,  now  the  King 's  come ! 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come! 
Thou  shalt  dance,  and  I  will  sing, 
Carle,  now  the  King 's  come ! 

Auld  England  held  him  lang  and  fast; 
And  Ireland  had  a  joyfu'  cast; 
But  Scotland's  turn  is  come  at  last: 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come: 

Auld  Reekie,  in  her  rokelay  grey, 
Thought  never  to  have  seen  the  day; 
He 's  been  a  weary  time  away  — 

But,  Carle,  now  the  King 's  come ! 
363 


CARLE,  NOW  THE  KING'S  COME 

She's  skirling  frae  the  Castle-hill; 
The  Carline's  voice  is  grown  sae  shrill, 
Ye '11  hear  her  at  the  Canon-mill: 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come! 

*  Up,  bairns ! '  she  cries,  '  baith  grit  and  sma'. 
And  busk  ye  for  the  weapon-shaw! 
Stand  by  me,  and  we'll  bang  them  a'  — 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come! 

*  Come  from  Newbattle's  ancient  spires, 
Bauld  Lothian,  with  your  knights  and  squires, 
And  match  the  mettle  of  your  sires : 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come! 

*  You  're  welcome  hame,  my  Montagu ! 
Bring  in  your  hand  the  young  Buccleuch ; 
I  'm  missing  some  that  I  may  rue : 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come; 

'Come,  Haddington,  the  kind  and  gay. 
You  've  graced  my  causeway  mony  a  day; 
I  '11  weep  the  cause  if  you  should  stay : 
Carle,  now  the  King  's  come ! 


364 


CARLE,  NOW  THE  KING'S   COME 

'Come,  premier  Duke,  and  carry  doun 
Frae  yonder  craig  ^  his  ancient  croun ; 
It 's  had  a  lang  sleep  and  a  soun' : 

But,  Carle,  now  the  King's  come! 

'Come,  Athole,  from  the  hill  and  wood, 
Bring  down  your  clansmen  like  a  cloud ; 
Come,  Morton,  show  the  Douglas'  blood: 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come! 

'Come,  Tweeddale,  true  as  sword  to  sheath; 
Come,  Hopetoun,  feared  on  fields  of  death ; 
Come,  Clerk,^  and  give  your  bugle  breath; 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come! 

'Come,  Wemyss,  who  modest  merit  aids; 
Come,  Rosebery,  from  Dalmeny  shades; 
Breadalbane,  bring  your  belted  plaids; 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come! 

'Come,  stately  Niddrie,  auld  and  true, 
Girt  with  the  sword  that  Minden  knew; 
We  have  o'er  few  such  lairds  as  you : 
Carle,  now  the  King  's  come ! 

•  The  Castle.  »  See  Note  25. 


36s 


CARLE,  NOW  THE   KING'S   COME 

*  King  Arthur 's  grown  a  common  crier, 
He 's  heard  in  Fife  and  far  Cantire : 
"Fie,  lads,  behold  my  crest  of  fire!" 

Carle,  now  the  King 's  come ! 

'Saint  Abb  roars  out,  "I  see  him  pass, 
Between  Tantallon  and  the  Bass!" 
Calton,  get  out  your  keeking-glass. 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come!* 

The  Carline  stopped;  and,  sure  I  am, 
For  very  glee  had  ta'en  a  dwam. 
But  Oman  helped  her  to  a  dram. 

Cogie,  now  the  King  's  come! 

CHORUS 

Cogie,  now  the  King  *s  come! 
Cogie,  now  the  King 's  come ! 
I'se  be  fou*,  and  ye's  be  toom, 
Cogie,  now  the  King 's  come ! 

PART  SECOND 

A  Hawick  gill  of  mountain  dew 
Heised  up  Auld  Reekie's  heart,  I  trow, 
It  minded  her  of  Waterloo: 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come! 
366 


CARLE,  NOW  THE   KING'S   COME 

Again  I  heard  her  summons  swell, 
For,  sic  a  dirdum  and  a  yell, 
It  drowned  Saint  Giles's  jowing  bell: 
Carle,  now  the  King 's  come ! 

*My  trusty  Provost,  tried  and  tight. 
Stand  forward  for  the  Good  Town's  right. 
There  *s  waur  than  you  been  made  a  knight : 
Carle,  now  the  King 's  come ! 

'My  reverend  Clergy,  look  ye  say 
The  best  of  thanksgivings  ye  ha'e, 
And  warstle  for  a  sunny  day  — 

Carle,  now  the  King  's  come ! 

'My  Doctors,  look  that  you  agree. 
Cure  a'  the  town  without  a  fee; 
My  Lawyers,  dinna  pike  a  plea : 

Carle,  now  the  King 's  come ! 

'Come  forth  each  sturdy  Burgher's  bairn, 
That  dints  on  wood  or  clanks  on  airn. 
That  fires  the  o'en,  or  winds  the  pirn  — 
Carle,  now  the  King 's  come ! 


367 


CARLE,  NOW  THE   KING'S   COME 

'Come  forward  with  the  Blanket  Blue, 
Your  sires  were  loyal  men  and  true, 
As  Scotland's  foemen  oft  might  rue: 
Carle,  now  the  King  's  come! 

'Scots  downa  loup,  and  rin  and  rave, 
We're  steady  folks  and  something  grave, 
We  '11  keep  the  causeway  firm  and  brave  : 
Carle,  now  the  King 's  come! 

'Sir  Thomas,  thunder  from  your  rock,* 
Till  Pentland  dinnles  wi'  the  shock, 
And  lace  wi'  fire  my  snood  o'  smoke: 
Carle,  now  the  King  's  come! 

'Melville,  bring  out  your  bands  of  blue, 
A'  Louden  lads,  baith  stout  and  true, 
With  Elcho,  Hope,  and  Cockburn,  too: 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come! 

'And  you,  who  on  yon  bluidy  braes 
Compelled  the  vanquished  Despot's  praise. 
Rank  out,  rank  out,  my  gallant  Greys: 
Carle,  now  the  King  's  come! 

>  Edinburgh  Castle. 


368 


CARLE,  NOW  THE   KING'S   COME 

'Cock  of  the  North,  my  Huntly  bra', 
Where  are  you  with  the  Forty-twa?^ 
Ah!  waes  my  heart  that  ye  're  awa': 
Carle,  now  the  King 's  come ! 

*  But  yonder  come  my  canty  Celts, 
With  durk  and  pistols  at  their  belts, 
Thank  God,  we've  still  some  plaids  and  kilts: 
Carle,  now  the  King 's  come ! 

'Lord,  how  the  pibrochs  groan  and  yell! 
Macdonell's  ta'en  the  field  himsell, 
Macleod  comes  branking  o'er  the  fell : 
Carle,  now  the  King 's  come! 

'  Bend  up  your  bow  each  Archer  spark, 
For  you're  to  guard  him  light  and  dark; 
Faith,  lads,  for  ance  ye've  hit  the  mark; 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come! 

'Young  Errol,  take  the  sword  of  state, 
The  Sceptre,  Pane-Morarchate; 
Knight  Mareschal,  see  ye  clear  the  gate: 
Carle,  now  the  King 's  come ! 

•  Marquis  of  Huntly,  now  Duke  of  Gordon,  Colonel  of  the  42d  regiment. 
60  369 


CARLE,  NOW   THE  KING'S   COME 

'  Kind  cummer,  Leith,  ye  've  been  misset, 
But  dinna  be  upon  the  fret: 
Ye  *se  hae  the  handsel  of  him  yet, 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come! 

*My  daughters,  come  with  een  sae  blue. 
Your  garlands  weave,  your  blossoms  strew: 
He  ne'er  saw  fairer  flowers  than  you: 
Carle,  now  the  King 's  come! 

'What  shall  we  do  for  the  propine: 
We  used  to  offer  something  fine, 
But  ne'er  a  groat 's  in  pouch  of  mine: 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come! 

*  Deil  care  —  for  that  I  'se  never  start, 
We'll  welcome  him  with  Highland  heart; 
Whate'er  we  have  he's  get  a  part: 

Carle,  now  the  King 's  come ! 

'I'll  show  him  mason-work  this  day: 
Nane  of  your  bricks  of  Babel  clay. 
But  towers  shall  stand  till  Time's  away: 
Carle,  now  the  King 's  come ! 


370 


CARLE,  NOW  THE   KING'S   COME 

*  I  '11  show  him  wit,  I  'U  show  him  lair, 
And  gallant  lads  and  lasses  fair, 
And  what  wad  kind  heart  wish  for  mair? 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come! 

'Step  out,  Sir  John,  of  projects  rife. 
Come  win  the  thanks  of  an  auld  wife, 
And  bring  him  health  and  length  of  life: 
Carle,  now  the  King 's  come ! ' 


THE  BANNATYNE  CLUB 

1823 

Assist  me,  ye  friends  of  Old  Books  and  Old  Wine, 
To  sing  in  the  praises  of  sage  Bannatyne, 
Who  left  such  a  treasure  of  old  Scottish  lore 
As  enables  each  age  to  print  one  volume  more. 

One  volume  more,  my  friends,  one  volume  more, 
We'll  ransack  old  Banny  for  one  volume  more. 

And  first,  Allan  Ramsay  was  eager  to  glean 
From  Bannatyne's  Hortus  his  bright  Evergreen ; 
Two  light  little  volumes  —  intended  for  four  — 
Still  leave  us  the  task  to  print  one  volume  more. 
One  volume  more,  etc. 

His  ways  were  not  ours,  for  he  cared  not  a  pin 
How  much  he  left  out  or  how  much  he  put  in ; 
The  truth  of  the  reading  he  thought  was  a  bore, 
So  this  accurate  age  calls  for  one  volume  more. 
One  volume  more,  etc. 

Correct  and  sagacious,  then  came  my  Lord  Hailes, 
And  weighed  every  letter  in  critical  scales. 
But  left  out  some  brief  words  which  the  prudish  abhor 
And  castrated  Banny  in  one  volume  more. 

372 


THE  BANNATYNE  CLUB 

One  volume  more,  my  friends,  one  volume  more; 
We'll  restore   Danny's  manhood   in  one  volume 
more. 

John  Pinkerton  next,  and  I  'm  truly  concerned 
I  can't  call  that  worthy  so  candid  as  learned ; 
He  railed  at  the  plaid  and  blasphemed  the  claymore, 
And  set  Scots  by  the  ears  in  his  one  volume  more. 
One  volume  more,  my  friends,  one  volume  more, 
Celt  and  Goth  shall  be  pleased  with  one  volume 
more. 

As  bitter  as  gall  and  as  sharp  as  a  razor, 
And  feeding  on  herbs  as  a  Nebuchadnezzar; 
His  diet  too  acid,  his  temper  too  sour, 
Little  Ritson  came  out  with  his  two  volumes  more. 
But  one  volume,  my  friends,  one  volume  more, 
We'll  dine  on  roast-beef  and  print  one  volume 
more. 

The  stout  Gothic  yeditur,  next  on  the  roll, 
With  his  beard  like  a  brush  and  as  black  as  a  coal ; 
And  honest  Greysteel  that  was  true  to  the  core. 
Lent  their  hearts  and  their  hands  each  to  one  volume 
more. 

One  volume  more,  etc. 


373 


THE  BANNATYNE  CLUB  ; 

Since  by  these  single  champions  what  wonders  were 

done, 
What  may  not  be  achieved  by  our  Thirty  and  One? 
Law,  Gospel,  and  Commerce,  we  count  in  our  corps, 
And  the  Trade  and  the  Press  join  for  one  volume  more. 
One  volume  more,  etc. 

Ancient  libels  and  contraband  books,  I  assure  you, 
We'll  print  as  secure  from  Exchequer  or  Jury; 
Then  hear  your  Committee  and  let  them  count  o'er 
The  Chiels  they  intend  in  their  three  volumes  more. 
Three  volumes  more,  etc. 

They'll  produce  you  King  Jamie,  the  sapient  and  Sext, 
And  the  Rob  of  Dumblane  and  her  Bishops  come  next ; 
One  tome  miscellaneous  they'll  add  to  your  store, 
Resolving  next  year  to  print  four  volumes  more. 

Four  volumes  more,  my  friends,  four  volumes  more; 

Pay  down  your  subscriptions  for  four  volumes  more. 


COUNTY  GUY 

From  Chapter  rv  of  Quentin  Durward,  published  in  1823. 

Ah!  County  Guy,  the  hour  is  nigh, 

The  sun  has  left  the  lea, 
The  orange  flower  perfumes  the  bower. 

The  breeze  is  on  the  sea. 
The  lark,  his  lay  who  thrilled  all  day. 

Sits  hushed  his  partner  nigh ; 
Breeze,  bird,  and  flower  confess  the  hour, 

But  where  is  County  Guy? 

The  village  maid  steals  through  the  shade, 

Her  shepherd's  suit  to  hear; 
To  beauty  shy,  by  lattice  high. 

Sings  high-born  Cavalier. 
The  star  of  Love,  all  stars  above, 

Now  reigns  o'er  earth  and  sky ; 
And  high  and  low  the  influence  know  — 

But  where  is  County  Guy? 


375 


EPILOGUE 

TO  THE  DRAMA   FOUNDED   ON   SAINT   RONAN's  WELL 

1824 

[Enter  Meg  Dodds,  encircled  by  a  crowd  of  unruly  boys,  whom  a  lowh's-officer  is 
driving  ojf.] 

That  's  right,  friend  —  drive  the  gaitlings  back, 
And  lend  yon  muckle  ane  a  whack; 
Your  Embro'  bairns  are  grown  a  pack, 

Sae  proud  and  saucy, 
They  scarce  will  let  an  auld  wife  walk 

Upon  your  causey. 

I  've  seen  the  day  they  would  been  scaured 
Wi'  the  Tolbooth  or  wi'  the  Guard, 
Or  maybe  wud  hae  some  regard 

For  Jamie  Laing  — 
The  Water-hole  was  right  weel  wared 

On  sic  a  gang. 

But  whar's  the  gude  Tolbooth  gane  now? 
Whar's  the  auld  Claught,  wi'  red  and  blue? 
Whar's  Jamie  Laing?  and  whar's  John  Doo? 

And  whar's  the  Weigh-house? 
Deil  hae't  I  see  but  what  is  new, 

Except  the  Playhouse! 
376 


EPILOGUE 

Yoursells  are  changed  frae  head  to  heel, 
There 's  some  that  gar  the  causeway  reel 
With  clashing  hufe  and  rattling  wheel, 

And  horses  canterin', 
Wha's  fathers'  daundered  hame  as  wee! 

Wi'  lass  and  lantern. 

Mysell  being  in  the  public  line, 

I  look  for  howfs  I  kenned  lang  syne, 

Whar  gentles  used  to  drink  gude  wine 

And  eat  cheap  dinners; 
But  deil  a  soul  gangs  there  to  dine 

Of  saints  or  sinners! 

Fortune's  and  Hunter's  gane,  alas! 
And  Bayle's  is  lost  in  empty  space; 
And  now  if  folk  would  splice  a  brace 

Or  crack  a  bottle, 
They  gang  to  a  new-fangled  place 

They  ca'  a  Hottle. 

The  deevil  hottle  them  for  Meg! 
They  are  sae  greedy  and  sae  gleg. 
That  if  ye 're  served  but  wi'  an  egg  — 

And  that 's  puir  picking  — 
In  comes  a  chiel  and  makes  a  leg. 

And  charges  chicken! 

377 


EPILOGUE 

'And  wha  may  ye  be,'  gin  ye  speer, 
'That  brings  your  auld-warld  clavers  here?* 
Troth,  if  there 's  onybody  near 
That  kens  the  roads, 
I  '11  haud  ye  Burgundy  to  beer 
He  kens  Meg  Dodds. 

I  came  a  piece  frae  west  o'  Currie; 
And,  since  I  see  you're  in  a  hurry, 
Your  patience  I  '11  nae  langer  worry, 

But  be  sae  crouse 
As  speak  a  word  for  ane  Will  Murray 

That  keeps  this  house. 

Plays  are  auld-fashioned  things  in  truth, 
And  ye  've  seen  wonders  mair  uncouth ; 
Yet  actors  shouldna  suffer  drouth 

Or  want  of  dramock, 
Although  they  speak  bu  wi'  their  mouth, 

Not  with  their  stamock. 

But  ye  take  care  of  a'  folk's  pantry; 

And  surely  to  hae  stooden  sentry 

Ower  this  big  house  —  that 's  far  frae  rent-free 

For  a  lone  sister. 
Is  claims  as  gude  's  to  be  a  ventri — 

How  'st  ca'd  —  loquister. 
,  378 


EPILOGUE 

Weel,  sirs,  gude'en,  and  have  a  care 
The  bairns  mak  fun  o'  Meg  nae  mair; 
For  gin  they  do,  she  tells  you  fair 

And  without  failzie, 
As  sure  as  ever  ye  sit  there, 

She'll  tell  the  Bailie. 


EPILOGUE 

The  sages  —  for  authority,  pray,  look 
Seneca's  morals  or  the  copy-book  — 
The  sages  to  disparage  woman's  power, 
Say  beauty  is  a  fair  but  fading  flower;  — 
I  cannot  tell  —  I  've  small  philosophy  — 
Yet  if  it  fades  it  does  not  surely  die, 
But,  like  the  violet,  when  decayed  in  bloom, 
Survives  through  many  a  year  in  rich  perfume. 
Witness  our  theme  to-night;  two  ages  gone, 
A  third  wanes  fast,  since  Mary  filled  the  throne. 
Brief  was  her  bloom  with  scarce  one  sunny  day 
'Twixt  Pinkie's  field  and  fatal  Fotheringay: 
But  when,  while  Scottish  hearts  and  blood  you  boast. 
Shall  sympathy  with  Mary's  woes  be  lost? 
O'er  Mary's  memory  the  learned  quarrel, 
By  Mary's  grave  the  poet  plants  his  laurel. 
Time's  echo,  old  tradition,  makes  her  name 
The  constant  burden  of  his  faltering  theme ; 
In  each  old  hall  his  grey-haired  heralds  tell 
Of  Mary's  picture  and  of  Mary's  cell. 
And  show  —  my  fingers  tingle  at  the  thought  — 
The  loads  of  tapestry  which  that  poor  queen  wrought. 
In  vain  did  fate  bestow  a  double  dower 
Of  every  ill  that  waits  on  rank  and  power, 

3S0 


EPILOGUE 

Of  every  ill  on  beauty  that  attends  — 

False  ministers,  false  lovers,  and  false  friends. 

Spite  of  three  wedlocks  so  completely  curst, 

They  rose  in  ill  from  bad  to  worse  and  worst. 

In  spite  of  errors  —  I  dare  not  say  more. 

For  Duncan  Targe  lays  hand  on  his  claymore. 

In  spite  of  all,  however  humours  vary, 

There  is  a  talisman  in  that  word  Mary, 

That  unto  Scottish  bosoms  all  and  some 

Is  found  the  genuine  open  sesamum! 

In  history,  ballad,  poetry,  or  novel. 

It  charms  alike  the  castle  and  the  hovel. 

Even  you  —  forgive  me  —  who,  demure  and  shy, 

Gorge  not  each  bait  not  stir  at  every  fly. 

Must  rise  to  this,  else  in  her  ancient  reign 

The  Rose  of  Scotland  has  survived  in  vain.^ 

' '  I  recovered  the  above  with  some  difficulty.  I  believe  it  was  never  spoken, 
but  written  for  some  play,  afterwards  withdrawn,  in  which  Mrs.  H.  Siddons  was 
to  have  spoken  it  in  the  chareicter  of  Queen  Mary.'  —  {Letter  to  Constable,  sad 
October.  1824.) 


VERSES  FROM   REDGAUNTLET 

Published  in  1824 
I 

A  CATCH  OF  Cowley's  altered 

.    From  Letter  x 

For  all  our  men  were  very  very  merry, 

And  all  our  men  were  drinking: 
There  were  two  men  of  mine, 
Three  men  of  thine, 

And  three  that  belonged  to  old  Sir  Thom  o'  Lyne. 
As  they  went  to  the  ferry,  they  were  very  very  merry, 

And  all  our  men  were  drinking. 

Jack  looked  at  the  sun,  and  cried.  Fire,  fire,  fire! 
Tom  stabled  his  keffel  in  Birkendale  mire; 
Jem  started  a  calf,  and  hallooed  for  a  stag; 
Will  mounted  a  gate-post  instead  of  his  nag: 
For  all  our  men  were  very  very  merry, 

And  all  our  men  were  drinking; 
There  were  two  men  of  mine, 
Three  of  thine. 

And  three  that  belonged  to  old  Sir  Thom  o'  Lyne. 
As  they  went  to  the  ferry,  they  were  very  very  merry, 

For  all  our  men  were  drinking. 
382 


VERSES  FROM  REDGAUNTLET 
II 

*AS  LORDS   THEIR  LABOURERS'   HIRE   DELAY* 
From  Chapter  ix 

As  lords  their  labourers'  hire  delay, 
Fate  quits  our  toil  with  hopes  to  come, 

Which,  if  far  short  of  present  pay, 
Still  owns  a  debt  and  names  a  sum. 

Quit  not  the  pledge,  frail  sufferer,  then, 
Although  a  distant  date  be  given ; 

Despair  is  treason  towards  man,. 
And  blasphemy  to  Heaven. 


LINES 

ADDRESSED   TO  MONSIEUR  ALEXANDRE,   THE 
CELEBRATED   VENTRILOQUIST 

Of  yore,  in  old  England,  it  was  not  thought  good 

To  carry  two  visages  under  one  hood ; 

What  should  folk  say  to  you?  who  have  faces  such 

plenty, 
That  from  under  one  hood,  you  last  night  showed  us 

twenty ! 
Stand  forth,  arch-deceiver,  and  tell  us  in  truth, 
Are  you  handsome  or  ugly,  in  age  or  in  youth? 
Man,  woman,  or  child  —  a  dog  or  a  mouse? 
Or  are  you,  at  once,  each  live  thing  in  the  house? 
Each  live  thing,  did  I  ask?  each  dead  implement,  too, 
A  work-shop  in  your  person,  —  saw,  chisel,  and  screw! 
Above  all,  are  you  one  individual?  I  know 
You  must  be  at  least  Alexandre  and  Co. 
But  I  think  you  're  a  troop,  an  assemblage,  a  mob, 
And  that  I,  as  the  Sheriff,  should  take  up  the  job; 
And  instead  of  rehearsing  your  wonders  in  verse. 
Must  read  you  the  Riot- Act,  and  bid  you  disperse. 


384 


TO  J.   G.   LOCKHART,   ESQ. 

ON  THE  COMPOSITION   OF   MAIDA's   EPITAPH 

Dear  John,  —  I  some  time  ago  wrote  to  inform  his 
Fat  worship  of  jaces,  misprinted  for  dormis; 
But  that  several  Southrons  assured  me  the  januam 
Was  a  twitch  to  both  ears  of  Ass  Priscian's  cranium. 
You  perhaps  may  observe  that  one  Lionel  Berguer, 
In  defence  of  our  blunder  appears  a  stout  arguer. 
But  at  length  I  have  settled,  I  hope,  all  these  clatters, 
By  a  rowt  in  the  papers,  fine  place  for  such  matters. 
I  have  therefore  to  make  it  for  once  my  command,  sir. 
That  my  gudeson  shall  leave  the  whole  thing  in   my 

hand,  sir, 
And  by  no  means  accomplish  what   James  says  you 

threaten, — 
Some  banter  in  Blackwood  to  claim  your  dog-Latin. 
I  have  various  reasons  of  weight,  on  my  word,  sir, 
For  pronouncing  a  step  of  this  sort  were  absurd,  sir. 
Firstly,  erudite  sir,  't  was  against  your  advising 
I  adopted  the  lines  this  monstrosity  lies  in; 
For  you  modestly  hinted  my  English  translation 
Would  become  better  far  such  a  dignified  station. 
Second,  how,  in  God's  name,  would  my  bacon  be  saved 
By  not  having  writ  what  I  clearly  engraved? 
On  the  contrary,  I,  on  the  whole,  think  it  better 
To  be  whipped  as  the  thief,  than  his  lousy  resetter. 

60  385 


TO  J.   G.  LOCKHART,   ESQ. 

Thirdly,  don't  you  perceive  that  I  don't  care  a  boddle 

Although  fifty  false  metres  were  flung  at  my  noddle, 

For  my  back  is  as  broad  and  as  hard  as  Benlomon's, 

And  I  treat  as  I  please  both  the  Greeks  and  the  Romans; 

Whereas  the  said  heathens  might  rather  look  serious 

At  a  kick  on  their  drum  from  the  scribe  of  Valerius. 

And,  fourthly  and  lastly,  it  is  my  good  pleasure 

To  remain  the  sole  source  of  that  murderous  measure. 

So,  stet  pro  ratione  voluntas,  —  be  tractile. 

Invade  not,  I  say,  my  own  dear  little  dactyl; 

If  you  do,  you'll  occasion  a  breach  in  our  intercourse. 

To-morrow  will  see  me  in  town  for  the  winter-course, 

But  not  at  your  door,  at  the  usual  hour,  sir. 

My  own  pye-house  daughter 's  good  prog  to  devour,  sir. 

Ergo,    peace!  — on    your    duty    your    squeamishness 

throttle, 
And  we'll  soothe  Priscian's  spleen  with  a  canny  third 

bottle. 
A  fig  for  all  dactyls,  a  fig  for  all  spondees, 
A  fig  for  all  dunces  and  Dominie  Grundys; 
A  fig  for  dry  thrapples,  south,  north,  east,  and  west,  sir, 
Speats  and  raxes  ere  five  for  a  famishing  guest,  sir; 
And  as  Fatsman  and  I  have  some  topics  for  haver,  he  '11 
Be  invited,  I  hope,  to  meet  me  and  Dame  Peveril, 
Upon  whom,  to  say  nothing  of  Oury  and  Anne,  you  a 
Dog  shall  be  deemed  if  you  fasten  your  Janua. 


SONGS  FROM   THE  BETROTHED 

Published  in  1825 
I 

'soldier,  wake!' 

From  Chapter  xix 

Soldier,  wake !  the  day  is  peeping, 
Honour  ne'er  was  won  in  sleeping; 
Never  when  the  sunbeams  still 
Lay  unreflected  on  the  hill: 
*T  is  when  they  are  glinted  back 
From  axe  and  armour,  spear  and  jack, 
That  they  promise  future  story 
Many  a  page  of  deathless  glory. 
Shields  that  are  the  foeman's  terror 
Ever  are  the  morning's  mirror. 

Arm  and  up!  the  morning  beam 
Hath  called  the  rustic  to  his  team. 
Hath  called  the  falc'ner  to  the  lake, 
Hath  called  the  huntsman  to  the  brake; 
The  early  student  ponders  o'er 
His  dusty  tomes  of  ancient  lore. 
Soldier,  wake!  thy  harvest,  fame; 
Thy  study,  conquest;  war,  thy  game. 
387 


SONGS  FROM  THE  BETROTHED 

Shield,  that  would  be  foeman's  terror, 
Still  should  gleam  the  morning's  mirror. 

Poor  hire  repays  the  rustic's  pain; 
More  paltry  still  the  sportsman's  gain: 
Vainest  of  all,  the  student's  theme 
Ends  in  some  metaphysic  dream : 
Yet  each  is  up,  and  each  has  toiled, 
Since  first  the  peep  of  dawn  has  smiled: 
And  each  is  eagerer  in  his  aim 
Than  he  who  barters  life  for  fame. 
Up,  up,  and  arm  thee,  son  of  terror! 
Be  thy  bright  shield  the  morning's  mirror. 


II 

woman's  faith 

From  Chapter  xx 

Woman's  faith,  and  woman's  trust: 
Write  the  characters  in  dust, 
Stamp  them  on  the  running  stream, 
Print  them  on  the  moon's  pale  beam, 
And  each  evanescent  letter 
Shall  be  clearer,  firmer,  better, 
And  more  permanent,  I  ween. 
Than  the  things  those  letters  mean. 

388 


SONGS  FROM  THE  BETROTHED 

I  have  strained  the  spider's  thread 

'Gainst  the  promise  of  a  maid ; 

I  have  weighed  a  grain  of  sand 

'Gainst  her  pUght  of  heart  and  hand ; 

I  told  my  true  love  of  the  token, 

How  her  faith  proved  light,  and  her  word  was 

broken: 
Again  her  word  and  truth  she  plight, 
And  I  believed  them  again  ere  night. 


Ill 

*I   ASKED   OF   MY  HARP' 

From  Chapter  xxxi.  *A  lay,  of  which  we  can  offer  only  a  few  fragments, 
literally  translated  from  the  ancient  language  in  which  they  were  chanted, 
premising  that  they  are  in  that  excursive  symbolical  style  of  poetry  which 
Taliessin,  Llewarch  Hen,  and  other  bards  had  derived  perhaps  from  the  time 
of  the  Druids.' 

I  ASKED  of  my  harp,  'Who  hath  injured  thy  chords?' 
And  she  replied,  'The  crooked  finger,  which  I  mocked 

in  my  tune.' 
A  blade  of  silver  may  be  bended  —  a  blade  of  steel 

abideth : 
Kindness  fadeth  away,  but  vengeance  endureth. 

The  sweet  taste  of  mead  passeth  from  the  lips, 
But  they  are  long  corroded  by  the  juice  of  worm- 
wood; 

389 


SONGS  FROM  THE  BETROTHED 

The  lamb  is  brought  to  the  shambles,  but  the  wolf 

rangeth  the  mountain; 
Kindness  fadeth  away,  but  vengeance  endureth. 

I  asked  the  red-hot  iron,  when  it  glimmered  on  the  anvil, 
'Wherefore  glowest  thou  longer  than  the  fire-brand?' 
'I  was  born  in  the  dark  mine,  and  the  brand  in  the 

pleasant  greenwood.' 
Kindness  fadeth  away,  but  vengeance  endureth. 

I  asked  the  green  oak  of  the  assembly,  wherefore  its 

boughs  were  dry  and  seared  like  the  horns  of  the 

stag. 
And  it  showed  me  that  a  small  worm  had  gnawed  its 

roots. 
The  boy  who  remembered  the  scourge  undid  the  wicket 

of  the  castle  at  midnight. 
Kindness  fadeth  away,  but  vengeance  endureth. 

Lightning  destroyeth  temples,  though  their  spires  pierce 
the  clouds; 

Storms  destroy  armadas,  though  their  sails  intercept 
the  gale. 

He  that  is  in  his  glory  falleth,  and  that  by  a  contempti- 
ble enemy. 

Kindness  fadeth  away,  but  vengeance  endureth.  . 


390 


SONGS  FROM  THE  BETROTHED 

IV 

'widowed  wife  and  wedded  maid' 

From  the  last  Chapter 

Widowed  wife  and  wedded  maid, 
Betrothed,  betrayer,  and  betrayed, 
All  is  done  that  has  been  said ; 
Vanda's  wrong  has  been  y-wroken: 
Take  her  pardon  by  this  token. 


VERSES   FROM   THE  TALISMAN 

Published  in  1825 

I 

'dark  AHRIMAN,   whom   IRAK   STILL* 
From  Chapter  iii 

Dark  Ahriman,  whom  Irak  still 
Holds  origin  of  woe  and  ill! 

When,  bending  at  thy  shrine, 
We  view  the  world  with  troubled  eye, 
Where  see  we,  'neath  the  extended  sky, 

An  empire  matching  thine ! 

If  the  Benigner  Power  can  yield 
A  fountain  in  the  desert  field, 

Where  weary  pilgrims  drink; 
Thine  are  the  waves  that  lash  the  rock, 
Thine  the  tornado's  deadly  shock, 

Where  countless  navies  sink! 

Or  if  He  bid  the  soil  dispense 
Balsams  to  cheer  the  sinking  sense, 

How  few  can  they  deliver 
From  lingering  pains,  or  pang  intense, 
Red  Fever,  spotted  Pestilence, 

The  arrows  of  thy  quiver! 
392 


VERSES  FROM  THE  TALISMAN" 

Chief  in  Man's  bosom  sits  thy  sway, 
And  frequent,  while  in  words  we  pray 

Before  another  throne, 
Whate'er  of  specious  form  be  there, 
The  secret  meaning  of  the  prayer 

Is,  Ahriman,  thine  own. 

Say,  hast  thou  feeling,  sense,  and  form, 
Thunder  thy  voice,  thy  garments  storm. 

As  Eastern  Magi  say; 
With  sentient  soul  of  hate  and  wrath. 
And  wings  to  sweep  thy  deadly  path. 

And  fangs  to  tear  thy  prey? 

Or  art  thou  mixed  in  Nature's  source. 
An  ever-operating  force, 

Converting  good  to  ill ; 
An  evil  principle  innate, 
Contending  with  our  better  fate, 

And  oh!  victorious  still? 

Howe'er  it  be,  dispute  is  vain. 

On  all  without  thou  hold'st  thy  reign, 

Nor  less  on  all  within; 
Each  mortal  passion's  fierce  career, 
Love,  hate,  ambition,  joy,  and  fear, 

Thou  goadest  into  sin. 
393 


VERSES  FROM  THE  TALISMAN 

Whene'er  a  sunny  gleam  appears, 
To  brighten  up  our  vale  of  tears, 

Thou  art  not  distant  far ; 
'Mid  such  brief  solace  of  our  lives, 
Thou  whett'st  our  very  banquet-knives 

To  tools  of  death  and  war. 

Thus,  from  the  moment  of  our  birth, 
Long  as  we  linger  on  the  earth, 

Thou  rul'st  the  fate  of  men; 
Thine  are  the  pangs  of  life's  last  hour,' 
And  —  who  dare  answer?  —  is  thy  power, 

Dark  Spirit!  ended  Then? 

II 

'what  brave  chief  shall  head  the  forces' 

From  Chapter  xi.  'A  hearing  was  at  length  procured  for  the  poet  preferred, 
who  sung,  in  high  German,  stanzas  which  may  be  thus  translated' :  — 

What  brave  chief  shall  head  the  forces, 
Where  the  red-cross  legions  gather? 

Best  of  horsemen,  best  of  horses. 
Highest  head  and  fairest  feather. 

Ask  not  Austria  why,  'midst  princes. 

Still  her  banner  rises  highest ; 
Ask  as  well  the  strong-wing'd  eagle    • 

Why  to  heaven  he  soars  the  nighest. 
394 


VERSES  FROM  THE  TALISMAN 
III 

THE   BLOODY   VEST 

From  Chapter  xxvi.   'The  song  of  Blondel  was,  of  course,  in  the  Norman 
language;  but  the  verses  which  follow  express  its  meaning  and  its  manner.' 

'T  WAS  near  the  fair  city  of  Benevent, 
When  the  sun  was  setting  on  bough  and  bent, 
And  knights  were  preparing  in  bower  and  tent, 
On  the  eve  of  the  Baptist's  tournament; 
When  in  Lincoln  green  a  stripling  gent, 
Well  seeming  a  page  by  a  princess  sent, 
Wandered  the  camp,  and,  still  as  he  went, 
Inquired  for  the  Englishman,  Thomas  k  Kent. 

Far  hath  he  fared,  and  farther  must  fare, 

Till  he  finds  his  pavilion,  nor  stately  nor  rare,  — 

Little  save  iron  and  steel  was  there: 

And,  as  lacking  the  coin  to  pay  armourer's  care, 

With  his  sinewy  arms  to  the  shoulders  bare. 

The  good  knight  with  hammer  and  file  did  repair 

The  mail  that  to-morrow  must  see  him  wear, 

For  the  honour  of  Saint  John  and  his  lady  fair. 

'Thus  speaks  my  lady,'  the  page  said  he. 
And  the  knight  bent  lowly  both  head  and  knee: 
*  She  is  Benevent's  Princess  so  high  in  degree, 
And  thou  art  as  lowly  as  knight  may  well  be  — 

395 


VERSES  FROM  THE  TALISMAN 

He  that  would  climb  so  lofty  a  tree, 

Or  spring  such  a  gulf  as  divides  her  from  thee, 

Must  dare  some  high  deed,  by  which  all  men  may  see 

His  ambition  is  backed  by  his  hie  chivalrie. 

'Therefore  thus  speaks  my  lady,'  the  fair  page  he  said, 
And  the  knight  lowly  touted  with  hand  and  with  head: 
'Fling  aside  the  good  armour  in  which  thou  art  clad, 
And  don  thou  this  weed  of  her  night-gear  instead, 
For  a  hauberk  of  steel,  a  kittle  of  thread : 
And  charge  thus  attired,  in  the  tournament  dread. 
And  fight,  as  thy  wont  is,  where  most  blood  is  shed, 
And  bring  honour  away,  or  remain  with  the  dead.' 

Untroubled  in  his  look,  and  untroubled  in  his  breast, 
The  knight  the  weed  hath  taken,  and  reverently  hath 

kissed : 
'Now  blessed  be  the  moment,  the  messenger  be  blest! 
Much  honoured  do  I  hold  me  in  my  lady's  high  behest; 
And  say  unto  my  lady,  in  this  dear  night-weed  dressed. 
To  the  best  armed  champion  I  will  not  veil  my  crest; 
But  if  I  live  and  bear  me  well,  't  is  her  turn  to  take  the 

test.' 
Here,  gentles,  ends  the  foremost  fytte  of  the  Lay  of  the 

Bloody  Vest. 


396 


VERSES  FROM  THE  TALISMAN 

FYTTE   SECOND 

The  Baptist's  fair  morrow  beheld  gallant  feats: 
There  was  winning  of  honour,  and  losing  of  seats: 
There  was  hewing  with  falchions,  and  splintering  of 

staves, 
The  victors  won  glory,  the  vanquished  won  graves. 
Oh,  many  a  knight  there  fought  bravely  and  well, 
Yet  one  was  accounted  his  peers  to  excel. 
And  't  was  he  whose  sole  armour  on  body  and  breast 
Seemed  the  weed  of  a  damsel  when  bound  for  her  rest. 

There  were  some  dealt  him  wounds,  that  were  bloody 

and  sore. 
But  others  respected  his  plight,  and  forebore. 
'It  is  some  oath  of  honour,'  they  said,  'and  I  trow, 
'T  were  unknightly  to  slay  him  achieving  his  vow.' 
Then  the  Prince,  for  his  sake,  bade  the  tournament  cease, 
He  flung  down  his  warder,  the  trumpets  sung  peace; 
And  the  judges  declare,  and  competitors  yield. 
That  the  Knight  of  the  Night-gear  was  first  in  the  field. 

The  feast  it  was  nigh,  and  the  mass  it  was  nigher, 
When  before  the  fair  Princess  low  louted  a  squire, 
And  delivered  a  garment  unseemly  to  view. 
With  sword-cut  and  spear-thrust,  all  hacked  and  pierced 
through ; 

397 


VERSES  FROM  THE  TALISMAN 

All  rent  and  all  tattered,  all  clotted  with  blood, 
With  foam  of  the  horses,  with  dust,  and  with  mud; 
Not  the  point  of  that  lady's  small  finger,  I  ween, 
Could  have  rested  on  spot  was  unsullied  and  clean. 

'This  token  my  master.  Sir  Thomas  cl  Kent, 
Restores  to  the  Princess  of  fair  Benevent: 
He  that  climbs  the  tall  tree  has  won  right  to  the  fruit, 
He  that  leaps  the  wide  gulf  should  prevail  in  his  suit; 
Through  life's  utmost  peril  the  prize  I  have  won, 
And  now  must  the  faith  of  my  mistress  be  shown; 
For  she  who  prompts  knights  on  such  danger  to  run 
Must  avouch  his  true  service  in  front  of  the  sun. 

'I  restore,'  says  my  master,  'the  garment  I've  worn, 
And  I  claim  of  the  Princess  to  don  it  in  turn. 
For  its  stains  and  its  rents  she  should  prize  it  the  more. 
Since  by  shame  't  is  unsullied,  though  crimsoned  with 

gore.' 
Then  deep  blushed  the  Princess,  yet  kissed  she  and 

pressed 
The  blood-spotted  robes  to  her  lips  and  her  breast. 
'  Go  tell  my  true  knight,  church  and  chamber  shall  show 
If  I  value  the  blood  on  this  garment  or  no.' 

And  when  it  was  time  for  the  nobles  to  pass 
In  solemn  procession  to  minster  and  mass, 

398 


VERSES  FROM  THE  TALISMAN 

The  first  walked  the  Princess  in  purple  and  pall, 
But  the  blood-besmeared  night-robe  she  wore  over  all; 
And  eke,  in  the  hall,  where  they  all  sat  at  dine. 
When  she  knelt  to  her  father  and  proffered  the  wine, 
Over  all  her  rich  robes  and  state  jewels  she  wore 
That  wimple  unseemly  bedabbled  with  gore. 

Then  lords  whispered  ladies,  as  well  you  may  think, 

And  ladies  replied,  with  nod,  titter,  and  wink: 

And  the  Prince,  who  in  anger  and  shame  had  looked 

down. 
Turned  at  length  to  his  daughter,  and  spoke  with  a 

frown : 
*  Now  since  thou  hast  published  thy  folly  and  guilt, 
E'en  atone  with  thy  hand  for  the  blood  thou  hast  spilt; 
Yet  sore  for  your  boldness  you  both  will  repent, 
When  you  wander  as  exiles  from  fair  Benevent.' 

Then  out  spoke  stout  Thomas,  in  hall  where  he  stood. 
Exhausted  and  feeble,  but  dauntless  of  mood ; 
'The  blood  that  I  lost  for  this  daughter  of  thine, 
I  poured  forth  as  freely  as  flask  gives  its  wine: 
And  if  for  my  sake  she  brooks  penance  and  blame, 
Do  not  doubt  I  will  save  her  from  suffering  and  shame; 
And  light  will  she  reck  of  thy  princedom  and  rent, 
When  I  hail  her,  in  England,  the  Countess  of  Kent.* 


VERSES  FROM   WOODSTOCK 

Published  in  1826 

I 

*BY  PATHLESS  MARCH,   BY   GREENWOOD  TREE* 

From  Chapter  xiv 

By  pathless  march,  by  greenwood  tree, 
It  is  thy  weird  to  follow  me: 
To  follow  me  through  the  ghastly  moonlight, 
To  follow  me  through  the  shadows  of  night. 
To  follow  me,  comrade,  still  art  thou  bound: 
I  conjure  thee  by  the  unstanched  wound, 
I  conjure  thee  by  the  last  words  I  spoke, 
When  the  body  slept  and  the  spirit  awoke, 
In  the  very  last  pangs  of  the  deadly  stroke! 


II 

GLEE  FOR   KING  CHARLES 
From  Chapter  xx 

Bring  the  bowl  which  you  boast, 

Fill  it  up  to  the  brim; 
*T  is  to  him  we  love  most. 

And  to  all  who  love  him. 

400 


I 


VERSES  FROM  WOODSTOCK 

Brave  gallants,  stand  up, 

And  avaunt  ye,  base  carles! 
Were  there  death  in  the  cup, 

Here's  a  health  to  King  Charles! 

Though  he  wanders  through  dangers, 

Unaided,  unknown, 
Dependent  on  strangers. 

Estranged  from  his  own; 
Though  't  is  under  our  breath 

Amidst  forfeits  and  perils, 
Here's  to  honour  and  faith, 

And  a  health  to  King  Charles! 

Let  such  honours  abound 

As  the  time  can  afford, 
The  knee  on  the  ground, 

And  the  hand  on  the  sword ; 
But  the  time  shall  come  round 

When,  'mid  Lords,  Dukes,  and  Earls, 
The  loud  trumpet  shall  sound, 

Here's  a  health  to  King  Charles! 


401 


^-r--"^ 


VERSES  FROM  WOODSTOCK 

III 

'an  hour  with  thee* 

From  Chapter  xxvi 

An  hour  with  thee !   When  earliest  day 
Dapples  with  gold  the  eastern  grey, 
Oh,  what  can  frame  my  mind  to  bear 
The  toil  and  turmoil,  cark  and  care. 
New  griefs  which  coming  hours  unfold, 
And  sad  remembrance  of  the  old? 

One  hour  with  thee! 

One  hour  with  thee !  When  burning  June 
Waves  his  red  flag  at  pitch  of  noon; 
What  shall  repay  the  faithful  swain 
His  labour  on  the  sultry  plain; 
And  more  than  cave  or  sheltering  bough, 
Cool  feverish  blood  and  throbbing  brow? 

One  hour  with  thee! 

One  hour  with  thee !  When  sun  is  set. 

Oh !  what  can  teach  me  to  forget 

The  thankless  labours  of  the  day; 

The  hopes,  the  wishes,  flung  away; 

The  increasing  wants  and  lessening  gains, 

The  master's  pride  who  scorns  my  pains?  — 

One  hour  with  thee ! 
402 


VERSES  FROM  WOODSTOCK 

IV 

'son  of  a  witch' 

From  Chapter  xxx 

Son  of  a  witch, 

Mayst  thou  die  in  a  ditch, 
With  the  butchers  who  back  thy  quarrels; 

And  rot  above  ground, 

While  the  world  shall  resound 
A  welcome  to  Royal  King  Charles. 


LINES  TO  SIR  CUTHBERT  SHARP 

1827 
Forget  thee !  No !  my  worthy  fere ! 
Forget  bhthe  mirth  and  gallant  cheer! 
Death  sooner  stretch  me  on  my  bier! 

Forget  thee?  No. 

Forget  the  universal  shout 

When  'canny  Sunderland'  spoke  out: 

A  truth  which  knaves  affect  to  doubt: 

Forget  thee?  No. 

Forget  you?  No:  though  nowaday 
I  *ve  heard  your  knowing  people  say, 
*  Disown  the  debt  you  cannot  pay, 
You'll  find  it  far  the  thriftiest  way*  — 

But  I?  — Ono. 

Forget  your  kindness  found  for  all  room, 

In  what,  though  large,  seemed  still  a  small  room. 

Forget  my  Surtees  in  a  ball-room : 

Forget  you?  No. 

Forget  your  sprightly  dumpty-diddles, 
And  beauty  tripping  to  the  fiddles, 
Forget  my  lovely  friends  the  Liddells : 

Forget  you?   No. 
404 


VERSES  FROM  CHRONICLES  OF  THE 
CANONGATE 

Published  in  1827 

I 

OLD   SONG 
From  The  Highland  Widow,  Chapter  11 

Oh,  I  'm  come  to  the  Low  Country, 

Och,  och,  ohonochie, 
Without  a  penny  in  my  pouch 

To  buy  a  meal  for  me. 
I  was  the  proudest  of  my  clan, 

Long,  long  may  I  repine; 
And  Donald  was  the  bravest  man, 

And  Donald  he  was  mine. 


II 

THE   LAY    OF   POOR   LOUISE 
From  Chapter  x  of  The  Fair  Maid  of  Perth 

Ah,  poor  Louise!  the  livelong  day 
She  roams  from  cot  to  castle  gay; 
And  still  her  voice  and  viol  say, 
Ah,  maids,  beware  the  woodland  way, 

Think  on  Louise. 
40s 


VERSES  FROM  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  PERTH 

Ah,  poor  Louise!   The  sun  was  high, 
It  smirched  her  cheek,  it  dimmed  her  eye, 
The  woodland  walk  was  cool  and  nigh, 
Where  birds  with  chiming  streamlets  vie 

To  cheer  Louise. 

Ah,  poor  Louise!   The  savage  bear 
Made  ne'er  that  lovely  grove  his  lair; 
The  wolves  molest  not  paths  so  fair  — 
But  better  far  had  such  been  there 

For  poor  Louise. 

Ah,  poor  Louise!   In  woody  wold 
She  met  a  huntsman  fair  and  bold ; 
His  baldrick  was  of  silk  and  gold. 
And  many  a  witching  tale  he  told 

To  poor  Louise. 

Ah,  poor  Louise!   Small  cause  to  pine 
Hadst  thou  for  treasures  of  the  mine; 
For  peace  of  mind,  that  gift  divine, 
And  spotless  innocence  were  thine. 

Ah,  poor  Louise. 

Ah,  poor  Louise!   Thy  treasure's  reft! 
I  know  not  if  by  force  or  theft, 
Or  part  by  violence,  part  by  gift; 
But  misery  is  all  that's  left 

To  poor  Louise. 
406 


VERSES  FROM  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  PERTH 

Let  poor  Louise  some  succour  have! 
She  will  not  long  your  bounty  crave, 
Or  tire  the  gay  with  warning  stave  — 
For  Heaven  has  grace,  and  earth  a  grave, 

For  poor  Louise. 

Ill 

DEATH   CHANT 

From  Chapter  xxii.  'Ere  he  guessed  where  he  was  going,  the  leech  was 
hurried  into  the  house  of  the  late  Oliver  Proudfute,  from  which  he  heard  the 
chant  of  the  women,  as  they  swathed  and  dressed  the  corpse  of  the  umquhile 
bonnet-maker,  for  the  ceremony  of  next  morning,  of  which  chant  the  following 
verses  may  be  received  as  a  modern  imitation ' :  — 

Viewless  Essence,  thin  and  bare, 

Well-nigh  melted  into  air; 

Still  with  fondness  hovering  near 

The  earthly  form  thou  once  didst  wear; 


Pause  upon  thy  pinion's  flight. 
Be  thy  course  to  left  or  right; 
Be  thou  doomed  to  soar  or  sink, 
Pause  upon  the  awful  brink. 

To  avenge  the  deed  expelling 
Thee  untimely  from  thy  dwelling, 
Mystic  force  thou  shalt  retain 
O'er  the  blood  and  o'er  the  brain. 

407 


VERSES  FROM  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  PERTH 

When  the  form  thou  shalt  espy 
That  darkened  on  thy  closing  eye ; 
When  the  footstep  thou  shalt  hear 
That  thrilled  upon  thy  dying  ear; 

Then  strange  sympathies  shall  wake, 
The  flesh  shall  thrill,  the  nerves  shall  quake; 
The  wounds  renew  their  clottered  flood, 
And  every  drop  cry  blood  for  blood. 


IV 

SONG   OF  THE   GLEE-MAIDEN 

From  Chapter  xxx.  'The  maiden  sung  a  melancholy  dirge  in  Norman 
French;  the  words,  of  which  the  following  is  an  imitation,  were  united  to  a  tune 
as  doleful  as  they  are  themselves':  — 

Yes,  thou  mayst  sigh. 
And  look  once  more  at  all  around, 
At  stream  and  bank,  and  sky  and  ground ; 
Thy  life  its  final  course  has  found. 

And  thou  must  die. 

Yes,  lay  thee  down. 
And  while  thy  struggling  pulses  flutter, 
Bid  the  grey  monk  his  soul-mass  mutter, 
And  the  deep  bell  its  death-tone  utter : 

Thy  life  is  gone. 
408 


VERSES  FROM  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  PERTH 

Be  not  afraid, 
'T  is  but  a  pang,  and  then  a  thrill, 
A  fever  fit,  and  then  a  chill, 
And  then  an  end  of  human  ill: 

For  thou  art  dead. 


THE  DEATH  OF   KEELDAR 

1828 

Up  rose  the  sun  o'er  moor  and  mead; 
Up  with  the  sun  rose  Percy  Rede ; 
Brave  Keeldar,  from  his  couples  freed, 

Careered  along  the  lea; 
The  Palfrey  sprung  with  sprightly  bound, 
As  if  to  match  the  gamesome  hound: 
His  horn  the  gallant  huntsman  wound : 

They  were  a  jovial  three! 

Man,  hound,  or  horse,  of  higher  fame, 
To  wake  the  wild  deer  never  came 
Since  Alnwick's  Earl  pursued  the  game 

On  Cheviot's  rueful  day: 
Keeldar  was  matchless  in  his  speed, 
Than  Tarras  ne'er  was  stancher  steed, 
A  peerless  archer,  Percy  Rede; 

And  right  dear  friends  were  they. 

The  chase  engrossed  their  joys  and  woes. 
Together  at  the  dawn  they  rose. 
Together  shared  the  noon's  repose 
By  fountain  or  by  stream; 
410 


THE  DEATH  OF  KEELDAR 

And  oft  when  evening  skies  were  red 
The  heather  was  their  common  bed, 
Where  each,  as  wildering  fancy  led, 
Still  hunted  in  his  dream. 

Now  is  the  thrilling  moment  near 
Of  sylvan  hope  and  sylvan  fear; 
Yon  thicket  holds  the  harboured  deer. 

The  signs  the  hunters  know : 
With  eyes  of  flame  and  quivering  ears 
The  brake  sagacious  Keeldar  nears ; 
The  restless  palfrey  paws  and  rears; 

The  archer  strings  his  bow. 

The  game 's  afoot !  —  Halloo !  Halloo ! 
Hunter  and  horse  and  hound  pursue ;  — 
But  woe  the  shaft  that  erring  flew  — 

That  e'er  it  left  the  string! 
And  ill  betide  the  faithless  yew! 
The  stag  bounds  scathless  o'er  the  dew. 
And  gallant  Keeldar's  life-blood  true 

Has  drenched  the  grey-goose  wing. 

The  noble  hound  —  he  dies,  he  dies; 
Death,  death  has  glazed  his  fixed  eyes; 
Stiff  on  the  bloody  heath  he  lies 
Without  a  groan  or  quiver. 
411 


THE  DEATH  OF  KEELDAR 

Now  day  may  break  and  bugle  sound, 
And  whoop  and  hollow  ring  around, 
And  o'er  his  couch  the  stag  may  bound. 
But  Keeldar  sleeps  forever. 

Dilated  nostrils,  staring  eyes, 

Mark  the  poor  palfrey's  mute  surprise; 

He  knows  not  that  his  comrade  dies, 

Nor  what  is  death  —  but  still 
His  aspect  hath  expression  drear 
Of  grief  and  wonder  mixed  with  fear, 
Like  startled  children  when  they  hear 

Some  mystic  tale  of  ill. 

But  he  that  bent  the  fatal  bow 
Can  well  the  sum  of  evil  know, 
And  o'er  his  favourite  bending  low 

In  speechless  grief  recline; 
Can  think  he  hears  the  senseless  clay 
In  unreproachful  accents  say, 
'The  hand  that  took  my  life  away, 
Dear  master,  was  it  thine? 

'And  if  it  be,  the  shaft  be  blessed 
Which  sure  some  erring  aim  addressed. 
Since  in  your  service  prized,  caressed, 
I  in  your  service  die ; 
412 


THE   DEATH   OF   KEELDAR 

And  you  may  have  a  fleeter  hound 
To  match  the  dun-deer's  merry  bound, 
But  by  your  couch  will  ne'er  be  found 
So  true  a  guard  as  I.' 

And  to  his  last  stout  Percy  rued 
The  fatal  chance,  for  when  he  stood 
'Gainst  fearful  odds  in  deadly  feud 

And  fell  amid  the  fray, 
E'en  with  his  dying  voice  he  cried, 
'Had  Keeldar  but  been  at  my  side, 
Your  treacherous  ambush  had  been  spied  — 

I  had  not  died  to-day ! ' 

Remembrance  of  the  erring  bow 

Long  since  had  joined  the  tides  which  flow, 

Conveying  human  bliss  and  woe 

Down  dark  oblivion's  river; 
But  Art  can  Time's  stern  doom  arrest 
And  snatch  his  spoil  from  Lethe's  breast. 
And,  in  her  Cooper's  colours  drest, 

The  scene  shall  live  forever. 


THE  SECRET  TRIBUNAL 

From  Anne  of  Geierstein,  published  in  1829. 

From  Chapter  xx.  '  Philipson  could  perceive  that  the  lights  proceeded  from 
many  torches,  borne  by  men  muffled  in  black  cloaks,  like  mourners  at  a  funeral, 
or  the  Black  Friars  of  Saint  Francis's  Order,  wearing  their  cowls  drawn  over 
their  heads,  so  as  to  conceal  their  features.  They  appeared  anxiously  engaged 
in  measuring  o5  a  portion  of  the  apartment;  and,  while  occupied  in  that  em- 
ployment, they  sung,  in  the  ancient  German  language,  rhymes  more  rude  than 
Philipson  could  well  understand,  but  which  may  be  imitated  thus':  — 

Measurers  of  good  and  evil, 

Bring  the  square,  the  line,  the  level,  — 

Rear  the  altar,  dig  the  trench, 

Blood  both  stone  and  ditch  shall  drench. 

Cubits  six,  from  end  to  end, 

Must  the  fatal  bench  extend ; 

Cubits  six,  from  side  to  side. 

Judge  and  culprit  must  divide. 

On  the  east  the  Court  assembles. 

On  the  west  the  Accused  trembles: 

Answer,  brethren,  all  and  one. 

Is  the  ritual  rightly  done? 


On  life  and  soul,  on  blood  and  bone. 
One  for  all,  and  all  for  one. 
We  warrant  this  is  rightly  done. 


How  wears  the  night?   Doth  morning  shine 
In  early  radiance  on  the  Rhine? 


414 


THE  SECRET  TRIBUNAL 

What  music  floats  upon  his  tide? 
Do  birds  the  tardy  morning  chide? 
Brethren,  look  out  from  hill  and  height, 
And  answer  true,  how  wears  the  night? 


The  night  is  old ;  on  Rhine's  broad  breast 
Glance  drowsy  stars  which  long  to  rest. 

No  beams  are  twinkling  in  the  east. 
There  is  a  voice  upon  the  flood, 
The  stern  still  call  of  blood  for  blood ; 

'T  is  time  we  listen  the  behest. 

Up,  then,  up!  When  day  's  at  rest, 

'T  is  time  that  such  as  we  are  watchers; 

Rise  to  judgment,  brethren,  rise! 

Vengeance  knows  not  sleepy  eyes, 
He  and  night  are  matchers. 


THE  FORAY 

1830 

Set  to  music  by  John  Whitefield,  Mus.  Doc.  Cam. 

The  last  of  our  steers  on  the  board  has  been  spread, 
And  the  last  flask  of  wine  in  our  goblet  is  red ; 
Up!  up,  my  brave  kinsmen!  belt  swords  and  begone, 
There  are  dangers  to  dare  and  there 's  spoil  to  be  won. 

The  eyes  that  so  lately  mixed  glances  with  ours 
For  a  space  must  be  dim,  as  they  gaze  from  the  towers, 
And  strive  to  distinguish  through  tempest  and  gloom. 
The  prance  of  the  steed  and  the  toss  of  the  plume. 

The  rain  is  descending ;  the  wind  rises  loud ; 
And  the  moon  her  red  beacon  has  veiled  with  a  cloud ; 
'T  is  the  better,  my  mates!  for  the  warder's  dull  eye 
Shall  in  confidence  slumber  nor  dream  we  are  nigh. 

Our  steeds  are  impatient !   I  hear  my  blithe  Grey ! 
There  is  life  in  his  hoof -clang  and  hope  in  his  neigh ; 
Like  the  flash  of  a  meteor,  the  glance  of  his  mane 
Shall  marshal  your  march  through  the  darkness  and 
rain. 

416 


THE  FORAY 

The  drawbridge  has  dropped,  the  bugle  has  blown; 
One  pledge  is  to  quaff  yet  —  then  mount  and  begone !  — 
To  their  honour  and  peace  that  shall  rest  with  the  slain ; 
To  their  health  and  their  glee  that  see  Teviot  again ! 

50 


I 


INSCRIPTION 

FOR  THE   MONUMENT   OF   THE   REV.   GEORGE   SCOTT 
1830 

To  youth,  to  age,  alike,  this  tablet  pale 

Tells  the  brief  moral  of  its  tragic  tale. 

Art  thou  a  parent?   Reverence  this  bier. 

The  parents'  fondest  hopes  lie  buried  here. 

Art  thou  a  youth,  prepared  on  life  to  start, 

With  opening  talents  and  a  generous  heart; 

Fair  hopes  and  flattering  prospects  all  thine  own? 

Lo!  here  their  end  —  a  monumental  stone. 

But  let  submission  tame  each  sorrowing  thought, 

Heaven  crowned  its  champion  ere  the  fight  was  fought. 


418 


SONGS  FROM  THE   DOOM   OF  DEVORGOIL 

Published  in  1830 
I 

'the  sun  upon  the  lake* 

The  sun  upon  the  lake  is  low, 

The  wild  birds  hush  their  song, 
The  hills  have  evening's  deepest  glow, 

Yet  Leonard  tarries  long. 
Now  all  whom  varied  toil  and  care 

From  home  and  love  divide. 
In  the  calm  sunset  may  repair 

Each  to  the  loved  one's  side. 

The  noble  dame,  on  turret  high 

Who  waits  her  gallant  knight,  '\ 
Looks  to  the  western  beam  to  spy 

The  flash  of  armour  bright. 
The  village  maid,  with  hand  on  brow 

The  level  ray  to  shade. 
Upon  the  footpath  watches  now 

For  Colin's  darkening  plaid. 

Now  to  their  mates  the  wild  swans  row, 
By  day  they  swam  apart; 

419  / 


SONGS  FROM  THE  DOOM  OF  DEVORGOIL 

And  to  the  thicket  wanders  slow 

The  hind  beside  the  hart. 
The  woodlark  at  his  partner's  side 

Twitters  his  closing  song  — 
All  meet  whom  day  and  care  divide, 

But  Leonard  tarries  long. 

II 

*WE   LOVE   THE   SHRILL   TRUMPET' 

We  love  the  shrill  trumpet,  we  love  the  drum's  rattle, 
They  call  us  to  sport,  and  they  call  us  to  battle; 
And  old  Scotland  shall  laugh  at  the  threats  of  a  stranger, 
While  our  comrades  in  pastime  are  comrades  in  danger. 

If  there's  mirth  in  our  house,  't  is  our  neighbour  that 

shares  it  — 
If  peril  approach,  't  is  our  neighbour  that  dares  it; 
And  when  we  lead  off  to  the  pipe  and  the  tabour. 
The  fair  hand  we  press  is  the  hand  of  a  neighbour. 

Then  close  your  ranks,  comrades,  the  bands  that  com- 
bine them, 

Faith,  friendship,  and  brotherhood,  joined  to  entwine 
them ; 

And  we  '11  laugh  at  the  threats  of  each  insolent  stranger, 

While  our  comrades  in  sport  are  our  comrades  in  danger. 

420 


SONGS   FROM  THE  DOOM  OF  DEVORGOIL 

III 

'admire   not   that   I    GAINED   THE   PRIZE' 

Admire  not  that  I  gained  the  prize 

From  all  the  village  crew; 
How  could  I  fail  with  hand  or  eyes 

When  heart  and  faith  were  true? 

And  when  in  floods  of  rosy  wine 
My  comrades  drowned  their  cares, 

I  thought  but  that  thy  heart  was  mine, 
My  own  leapt  light  as  theirs. 

My  brief  delay  then  do  not  blame, 
Nor  deem  your  swain  untrue ; 

My  form  but  lingered  at  the  game. 
My  soul  was  still  with  you. 

IV 

'when   THE   tempest' 

When  the  tempest 's  at  the  loudest 

On  its  gale  the  eagle  rides ; 
When  the  ocean  rolls  the  proudest 

Through  the  foam  the  sea-bird  glides  — 
All  the  rage  of  wind  and  sea 
Is  subdued  by  constancy. 
421 


SONGS  FROM  THE  DOOM  OF  DEVORGOIL 

Gnawing  want  and  sickness  pining, 
All  the  ills  that  men  endure, 

Each  their  various  pangs  combining, 
Constancy  can  find  a  cure  — 

Pain  and  Fear  and  Poverty 

Are  subdued  by  constancy. 

Bar  me  from  each  wonted  pleasure. 
Make  me  abject,  mean,  and  poor, 

Heap  on  insults  without  measure, 
Chain  me  to  a  dungeon  floor  — 

I'll  be  happy,  rich,  and  free, 

If  endowed  with  constancy. 


V 

BONNY  DUNDEE 
Air  —  *  The  Bonnets  of  Bonny  Dundee' 

To  the  Lords  of  Convention  't  was  Claver'se  who  spoke, 
*  Ere  the  King's  crown  shall  fall  there  are  crowns  to  be 

broke ; 
So  let  each  Cavalier  who  loves  honour  and  me,  _ 

Come  follow  the  bonnet  of  Bonny  Dundee. 
Come  fill  up  my  cup,  come  fill  up  my  can, 
Come  saddle  your  horses  and  call  up  your  men ; 
Come  open  the  West  Port  and  let  me  gang  free, 
And  it  's  room  for  the  bonnets  of  Bonny  Dundee!' 

422 


SONGS  FROM  THE  DOOM  OF  DEVORGOIL 

Dundee  he  is  mounted,  he  rides  up  the  street, 

The  bells  are  rung  backward,  the  drums  they  are  beat; 

But  the  Provost,  douce  man,  said,  'Just  e'en  let  him 

be. 
The  Gude  Town  is  weel  quit  of  that  Deil  of  Dundee.' 
Come  fill  up  my  cup,  etc. 

As  he  rode  down  the  sanctified  bends  of  the  Bow, 

Ilk  carline  was  flyting  and  shaking  her  pow; 

But  the  young  plants  of  grace  they  looked  couthie  and 

slee. 
Thinking,  luck  to  thy  bonnet,  thou  Bonny  Dundee! 
Come  fill  up  my  cup,  etc. 

With    sour-featured    Whigs    the    Grassmarket    was 

crammed 
As  if  half  the  West  had  set  tryst  to  be  hanged ; 
There  was  spite  in  each  look,  there  was  fear  in  each  e'e, 
As  they  watched  for  the  bonnets  of  Bonny  Dundee. 
Come  fill  up  my  cup,  etc. 

These  cowls  of  Kilmarnock  had  spits  and  had  spears, 

And  lang-hafted  gullies  to  kill  Cavaliers; 

But  they  shrunk  to  close-heads  and  the  causeway  was 

free. 
At  the  toss  of  the  bonnet  of  Bonny  Dundee. 
Come  fill  up  my  cup,  etc. 
423 


SONGS  FROM  THE  DOOM  OF  DEVORGOIL 

He  spurred  to  the  foot  of  the  proud  Castle  rock, 

And  with  the  gay  Gordon  he  gallantly  spoke; 

'Let  Mons  Meg  and  her  marrows  speak  twa  words  or 

three, 
For  the  love  of  the  bonnet  of  Bonny  Dundee.* 
Come  fill  up  my  cup,  etc. 

The  Gordon  demands  of  him  which  way  he  goes  — 
'Where'er  shall  direct  me  the  shade  of  Montrose! 
Your  Grace  in  short  space  shall  hear  tidings  of  me, 
Or  that  low  lies  the  bonnet  of  Bonny  Dundee. 
Come  fill  up  my  cup,  etc. 

'There  are  hills  beyond  Pentland  and  lands  beyond 

Forth, 
If  there's  lords  in  the  Lowlands,  there's  chiefs  in  the 

North ; 
There   are   wild    Duniewassals   three   thousand   times 

three. 
Will  cry  hoigh  I  for  the  bonnet  of  Bonny  Dundee. 
Come  fill  up  my  cup,  etc. 

'There  's  brass  on  the  target  of  barkened  bull-hide; 
There's  steel  in  the  scabbard  that  dangles  beside; 
The  brass  shall  be  burnished,  the  steel  shall  flash  free, 
At  a  toss  of  the  bonnet  of  Bonny  Dundee. 
Come  fill  up  my  cup,  etc. 
424 


SONGS  FROM  THE  DOOM  OF  DEVORGOIL 

'Away  to  the  hills,  to  the  caves,  to  the  rocks  — 
Ere  I  own  an  usurper,  I'll  couch  with  the  fox; 
And  tremble,  false  Whigs,  in  the  midst  of  your  glee, 
You  have  not  seen  the  last  of  my  bonnet  and  me!' 
Come  fill  up  my  cup,  etc. 

He  waved  his  proud  hand  and  the  trumpets  were  blown, 
The  kettle-drums  clashed,  and  the  horsemen  rode  on, 
Till  on  Ravelston's  cliffs  and  on  Clermiston's  lee 
Died  away  the  wild  war-notes  of  Bonny  Dundee. 
Come  fill  up  my  cup,  come  fill  up  my  can, 
Come  saddle  the  horses  and  call  up  the  men; 
Come  open  your  gates  and  let  me  gae  free, 
For  it 's  up  with  the  bonnets  of  Bonny  Dundee! 

VI 

'when  friends  are  met* 

When  friends  are  met  o'er  merry  cheer. 
And  lovely  eyes  are  laughing  near, 
And  in  the  goblet's  bosom  clear 

The  cares  of  day  are  drowned ; 
When  puns  are  made  and  bumpers  quaffed. 
And  wild  Wit  shoots  his  roving  shaft. 
And  Mirth  his  jovial  laugh  has  laughed. 

Then  is  our  banquet  crowned, 
Ah !  gay. 
Then  is  our  banquet  crowned. 
425 


SONGS  FROM  THE  DOOM  OF  DEVORGOIL 

When  glees  are  sung  and  catches  trolled, 
And  bashfulness  grows  bright  and  bold, 
And  beauty  is  no  longer  cold, 

And  age  no  longer  dull ; 
When  chimes  are  brief  and  cocks  do  crow 
To  tell  us  it  is  time  to  go, 
Yet  how  to  part  we  do  not  know, 

Then  is  our  feast  at  full. 
Ah!  gay, 

Then  is  our  feast  at  full. 


'HITHER   WE   COME' 

A  song  from  Auchindrane;  or.  The  Ayrshire  Tragedy 
1830 

Hither  we  come, 

Once  slaves  to  the  drum, 
But  no  longer  we  list  to  its  rattle; 

Adieu  to  the  wars, 

With  their  slashes  and  scars. 
The  march,  and  the  storm,  and  the  battle. 

There  are  some  of  us  maimed, 

And  some  that  are  lamed, 
And  some  of  old  aches  are  complaining; 

But  we  '11  take  up  the  tools 

Which  we  flung  by  like  fools, 
*Gainst  Don  Spaniard  to  go  a-campaigning. 

Dick  Hathorn  doth  vow 

To  return  to  the  plough, 
Jack  Steele  to  his  anvil  and  hammer; 

The  weaver  shall  find  room 

At  the  wight- wapping  loom. 
And  your  clerk  shall  teach  writing  and  grammar. 


427 


THE  DEATH  OF  DON   PEDRO 

1823 

Henry  and  King  Pedro  clasping, 
Hold  in  straining  arms  each  other; 

Tugging  hard  and  closely  grasping, 

Brother  proves  his  strength  with  brother. 

Harmless  pastime,  sport  fraternal, 

Blends  not  thus  their  limbs  in  strife; 
Either  aims,  with  rage  infernal. 
Naked  dagger,  sharpened  knife. 

Close  Don  Henry  grapples  Pedro, 
Pedro  holds  Don  Henry  strait; 

Breathing,  this,  triumphant  fury, 
That,  despair  and  mortal  hate. 

Sole  spectator  of  the  struggle,  

Stands  Don  Henry's  page  afar, 

In  the  chase,  who  bore  his  bugle, 
And  who  bore  his  sword  in  war. 

Down  they  go  in  deadly  wrestle, 

Down  upon  the  earth  they  go. 
Fierce  King  Pedro  has  the  vantage, 

Stout  Don  Henry  falls  below. 
428 


THE  DEATH  OF  DON  PEDRO 

Marking  then  the  fatal  crisis,, 
Up  the  page  of  Henry  ran, 

By  the  waist  he  caught  Don  Pedro, 
Aiding  thus  the  fallen  man. 

'King  to  place,  or  to  depose  him, 

Dwelleth  not  in  my  desire, 
But  the  duty  which  he  owes  him, 
To  his  master  pays  the  squire.' 

Now  Don  Henry  has  the  upmost. 
Now  King  Pedro  lies  beneath. 

In  his  heart  his  brother's  poniard. 
Instant  finds  its  bloody  sheath. 

Thus  with  mortal  gasp  and  quiver. 
While  the  blood  in  bubbles  welled, 

Fled  the  fiercest  soul  that  ever 
In  a  Christian  bosom  dwelled. 


LINES  ON  FORTUNE 

1831 

Fortune,  my  Foe,  why  dost  thou  frown  on  me? 
And  will  my  Fortune  never  better  be? 
Wilt  thou,  I  say,  forever  breed  my  pain? 
And  wilt  thou  ne'er  return  my  joys  again? 

No  —  let  my  ditty  be  henceforth  — 

Fortune,  my  friend,  how  well  thou  favourest  me! 
A  kinder  Fortune  man  did  never  see! 
Thou  propp'st  my  thigh,  thou  ridd'st  my  knee  of  pain, 
I  '11  walk,  I  '11  mount  —  I  '11  be  a  man  again. 


THE  END 


NOTES  AND  GLOSSARY 


NOTES 

Note  i,  p.  14 

Collins,  according  to  Johnson,  'by  indulging  some  peculiar 
habits  of  thought,  was  eminently  delighted  with  those  flights  of 
imagination  which  pass  the  bounds  of  nature,  and  to  which  the 
mind  is  reconciled  only  by  a  passive  acquiescence  in  popular 
traditions.  He  loved  fairies,  genii,  giants,  and  monsters;  he 
delighted  to  ro\'e  through  the  meanders  of  enchantment,  to 
gaze  on  the  magnificence  of  golden  palaces,  to  repose  by  the 
waterfalls  of  Elysian  gardens.' 

Note  2,  p.  16 

Triermain  was  a  fief  of  the  Barony  of  Gilsland,  in  Cumber- 
land ;  it  was  possessed  by  a  Saxon  family  at  the  time  of  the  Con- 
quest, but,  'after  the  death  of  Gilmore,  Lord  of  Tryermaine  and 
Torcrossock,  Hubert  Vaux  gave  Tr>'ermaine  and  Torcrossock 
to  his  second  son,  Ranulph  Vaux;  which  Ranulph  afterwards 
became  heir  to  his  elder  brother  Robert,  the  founder  of  Laner- 
cost,  who  died  without  issue.  Ranulph,  being  Lord  of  all 
Gilsland,  gave  Gilmore's  lands  to  his  own  younger  son,  named 
Roland,  and  let  the  Barony  descend  to  his  eldest  son  Robert, 
son  of  Ranulph.  Roland  had  issue  Alexander,  and  he  Ranulph, 
after  whom  succeeded  Robert,  and  they  were  named  Rolands 
successively,  that  were  lords  thereof,  until  the  reign  of  Ed- 
ward IV.  That  house  gave  for  arms,  V^ert,  a  bend  dexter, 
chequy,  or  and  gules.'  (Burn's  Antiquities  of  Westmoreland  and 
Cumberland,  il,  482.) 

This  branch  of  Vaux,  with  its  collateral  alliances,  is  now  repre- 
sented by  the  family  of  Braddyl  of  Conishead  Priory,  in  the 
county  palatine  of  Lancaster ;  for  it  appears  that  about  the  time 
above  mentioned,  the  house  of  Triermain  was  united  to  its 
kindred  family  Vaux  of  Caterlen,  and,  by  marriage  with  the 

60  433 


NOTES 

heiress  of  Delamore  and  Leybourne,  became  the  representative 
of  those  ancient  and  noble  families.  The  male  line  failing  in 
John  de  Vaux,  about  the  year  1665,  his  daughter  and  heiress, 
Mabel,  married  Christopher  Richmond,  Esq.,  of  Highhead 
Castle,  in  the  County  of  Cumberland,  descended  from  an  ancient 
family  of  that  name.  Lords  of  Corby  Castle,  in  the  same  county, 
soon  after  the  Conquest,  and  which  they  alienated  about  the 
15th  of  Edward  II,  to  Andrea  de  Harcia,  Earl  of  Carlisle.  Of 
this  family  was  Sir  Thomas  de  Raigemont  (miles  auratus),  in 
the  reign  of  King  Edward  I,  who  appears  to  have  greatly  dis- 
tinguished himself  at  the  siege  of  Kaerlaveroc,  with  William, 
Baron  of  Leybourne.  In  an  ancient  heraldic  poem,  now  extant, 
and  preserved  in  the  British  Museum,  describing  that  siege,  his 
arms  are  stated  to  be.  Or,  2  Bars  Gemelles  Gules,  and  a  Chief 
Or,  the  same  borne  by  his  descendants  at  the  present  day. 
The  Richmonds  removed  to  their  Castle  of  Highhead  in  the 
reign  of  Henry  VIII,  when  the  then  representative  of  the  fam- 
ily married  Margaret,  daughter  of  Sir  Hugh  Lowther,  by  the 
Lady  Dorothy  de  Clifford,  only  child  by  a  second  marriage 
of  Henry  Lord  Clifford,  great-grandson  of  John  Lord  Clifford, 
by  Elizabeth  Percy,  daughter  of  Henry  (surnamed  Hotspur) 
by  Elizabeth  Mortimer,  which  said  Elizabeth  was  daughter  of 
Edward  Mortimer,  third  Earl  of  Marche,  by  Philippa,  sole 
daughter  and  heiress  of  Lionel,  Duke  of  Clarence. 

The  third  in  descent  from  the  above-mentioned  John  Rich- 
mond became  the  representative  of  the  families  of  Vaux,  of 
Tricrmain,  Caterlen,  and  Torcrossock,  by  his  marriage  with 
Mabel  de  Vaux,  the  heiress  of  them.  His  grandson  Henry 
Richmond  died  without  issue,  leaving  five  sisters  coheiresses, 
four  of  whom  married;  but  Margaret,  who  married  William 
Gale,  Esq.,  of  Whitehaven,  was  the  only  one  who  had  male  issue 
surviving.  She  had  a  son,  and  a  daughter  married  to  Henry 
Curwen  of  Workington,  Esq.,  who  represented  the  County  of 
Cumberland  for  many  years  in  Parliament,  and  by  her  had  a 
daughter,  married  to  John  Christian,  Esq.  (now  Curwen). 
John,  son  and  heir  of  William  Gale,  married  Sarah,  daughtei 

434 


NOTES 

and  heiress  of  Christopher  Wilson  of  Bardsea  Hall,  in  the  County 
of  Lancaster,  by  Margaret,  aunt  and  coheiress  of  Thomas 
Braddjl,  Esq.,  of  Braddyl,  and  Conishead  Priory,  in  the  same 
county,  and  had  issue  four  sons  and  two  daughters:  ist,  William 
Wilson,  died  an  infant;  2d,  Wilson,  who  upon  the  death  of  his 
cousin,  Thomas  Braddyl,  without  issue,  succeeded  to  his  estates, 
and  took  the  name  of  Braddyl,  in  pursuance  of  his  will,  by  the 
King's  sign-manual;  3d,  William,  died  young;  and,  4th,  Henry 
Richmond,  a  lieutenant-general  of  the  army,  married  Sarah, 
daughter  of  the  Rev.  R.  Baldwin;  Margaret  married  Richard 
Greaves  Townley,  Esq.,  of  Fulbourne,  in  the  County  of  Cam- 
bridge, and  of  Bellfield,  in  the  County  of  Lancaster;  Sarah 
married  to  George  Bigland  of  Bigland  Hall,  in  the  same  county. 
Wilson  Braddyl,  eldest  son  of  John  Gale,  and  grandson  of 
Margaret  Richmond,  married  Jane,  daughter  and  heiress  of 
Matthias  Gale,  Esq.,  of  Catgill  Hall,  in  the  County  of  Cumber- 
land, by  Jane,  daughter  and  heiress  of  the  Rev.  S.  Bennet, 
D.D.;  and,  as  the  eldest  surviving  male  branch  of  the  families 
above  mentioned,  he  quarters,  in  addition  to  his  own,  their 
paternal  coats  in  the  following  order,  as  appears  by  the  records 
in  the  College  of  Arms:  1st,  Argent,  a  fess  azure,  between  3 
saltiers  of  the  same,  charged  with  an  anchor  between  2  lions' 
heads  erased,  or,  —  Gale.  2d,  Or,  2  bars  gemelles  gules,  and  a 
chief  or,  —  Richmond.  3d,  Or,  a  fess  chequey,  or  and  gules 
between  9  gerbes  gules,  —  Vaux  of  Caterlen.  4th,  Gules,  a 
fess  chequey,  or  and  gules  between  6  gerbes  or,  —  Vaux  of 
Torcrossock.  5th,  Argent  (not  vert,  as  stated  by  Burn),  a 
bend  chequey,  or  and  gules,  for  Vaux  of  Triermain.  6th,  Gules, 
a  cross  patonce,  or,  Delamore.  7th,  Gules,  6  lions  rampant 
argent,  3,  2,  and  i,  Leybourne.  This  more  detailed  genealogy 
of  the  family  of  Triermain  was  obligingly  sent  to  the  author  by 
Major  Braddyll  of  Conishead  Priory. 

Note  3,  p.  20 

Dunmailraise  is  one  of  the  grand  passes  from  Cumberland 
into  Westmoreland.    It  takes  its  name  from  a  cairn,  or  pile  of 

435 


NOTES 

stones,  erected,  it  is  said,  to  the  memory  of  Dunmail,  the  last 
King  of  Cumberland. 

Note  4,  p.  20 

A  circular  intrenchment,  about  half  a  mile  from  Penrith,  is 
thus  popularly  termed.  The  circle  within  the  ditch  is  about  one 
hundred  and  sixty  paces  in  circumference,  with  openings,  or 
approaches,  directly  opposite  to  each  other.  As  the  ditch  is  on 
the  inner  side,  it  could  not  be  intended  for  the  purpose  of 
defence,  and  it  has  reasonably  been  conjectured,  that  the 
enclosure  was  designed  for  the  solemn  exercise  of  feats  of  chiv- 
alry; and  the  embankment  around  for  the  convenience  of  the 
spectators. 

Note  5,  p.  21 

Higher  up  the  river  Eamont  than  Arthur's  Round  Table,  is  a 
prodigious  enclosure  of  great  antiquity,  formed  by  a  collection 
of  stones  upon  the  top  of  a  gently  sloping  hill,  called  Mayburgh. 
In  the  plain  which  it  encloses  there  stands  erect  an  unhewn 
stone  of  twelve  feet  in  height.  Two  similar  masses  are  said  to 
have  been  destroyed  during  the  memory  of  man.  The  whole 
appears  to  be  a  monument  of  Druidical  times. 

Note  6,  p.  23 

The  small  lake  called  Scales-tarn  lies  so  deeply  embosomed 
in  the  recesses  of  the  huge  mountain  called  Saddleback,  more 
poetically  Glaramara,  is  of  such  great  depth,  and  so  completely 
hidden  from  the  sun,  that  it  is  said  its  beams  never  reach  it,  and 
that  the  reflection  of  the  stars  may  be  seen  at  midday. 

Note  7,  p.  27 

This  was  the  name  of  King  Arthur's  well-known  sword,  some- 
times also  called  Excalibar. 

Note  8,  p.  29 

Tintagel  Castle,  in  Cornwall,  is  reported  to  have  been  the 
birthplace  of  King  Arthur. 

436 


NOTES 

Note  9,  p.  41 

The  author  has  an  indistinct  recollection  of  an  adventure 
somewhat  similar  to  that  which  is  here  ascribed  to  King  Arthur, 
having  befallen  one  of  the  ancient  kings  of  Denmark.  The  horn 
in  which  the  burning  liquor  was  presented  to  that  monarch  is 
said  still  to  be  preserved  in  the  Royal  Museum  at  Copenhagen. 

Note  10,  p.  41 

'We  now  gained  a  view  of  the  Vale  of  St.  John's,  a  very- 
narrow  dell,  hemmed  in  by  mountains,  through  which  a  small 
brook  makes  many  meanderings,  washing  little  enclosures  of 
grass-ground,  which  stretch  up  the  rising  of  the  hills.  In  the 
widest  part  of  the  dale  you  are  struck  with  the  appearance  of  an 
ancient  ruined  castle,  which  seems  to  stand  upon  the  summit 
of  a  little  mount,  the  mountains  around  forming  an  amphi- 
theatre. This  massive  bulwark  shows  a  front  of  various  towers, 
and  makes  an  awful,  rude,  and  Gothic  appearance,  with  its  lofty 
turrets  and  ragged  battlements;  we  traced  the  galleries,  the 
bending  arches,  the  buttresses.  The  greatest  antiquity  stands 
characterised  in  its  architecture;  the  inhabitants  near  it  assert 
it  is  an  antediluvian  structure. 

'The  traveller's  curiosity  is  roused,  and  he  prepares  to  make  a 
nearer  approach,  when  that  curiosity  is  put  upon  the  rack,  by 
his  being  assured,  that,  if  he  advances,  certain  genii  who  govern 
the  place,  by  virtue  of  their  supernatural  art  and  necromancy, 
will  strip  it  of  all  its  beauties,  and  by  enchantment,  transform 
the  magic  walls.  The  vale  seems  adapted  for  the  habitation  of 
such  beings;  its  gloomy  recesses  and  retirements  look  like  haunts 
of  evil  spirits.  There  was  no  delusion  in  the  report ;  we  were  soon 
convinced  of  its  truth;  for  this  piece  of  antiquity,  so  venerable 
and  noble  in  its  aspect,  as  we  drew  near  changed  its  figure,  and 
proved  no  other  than  a  shaken  massive  pile  of  rocks,  which 
stand  in  the  midst  of  this  little  vale,  disunited  from  the  adjoining 
mountains,  and  have  so  much  the  real  form  and  resemblance 

437 


NOTES 

of  a  castle,  that  they  bear  the  name  of  the  Castle  Rocks  of  St. 
John.'    (Hutchinson's  Excursion  to  the  Lakes,  p.  121.) 

Note  ii,  p.  42 

Arthur  is  said  to  have  defeated  the  Saxons  in  twelve  pitched 
battles,  and  to  have  achieved  the  other  feats  alluded  to  in  the 
text. 

Note  12,  p.  44 

The  characters  named  in  the  following  stanza  are  all  of  them 
more  or  less  distinguished  in  the  romances  which  treat  of  King 
Arthur  and  his  Round  Table,  and  their  names  are  strung  to- 
gether according  to  the  established  custom  of  minstrels  upon 
such  occasions;  for  example,  in  the  ballad  of  the  Marriage  of  Sir 
Gawaine:  — 

Sir  Lancelot,  Sir  Stephen  bolde. 

They  rode  with  them  that  daye, 
And,  foremost  of  the  companye. 

There  rode  the  stewarde  Kaye. 

See  did  Sir  Banier,  and  Sir  Bore, 

And  eke  Sir  Garratte  keen, 
Sir  Tristrem  too,  that  gentle  knight, 
(        To  the  forest  fresh  and  greene. 

Note  13,  p.  44 

Upon  this  delicate  subject  hear  Richard  Robinson,  citizen  of 
London,  in  his  Assertion  of  King  Arthur:  'But  as  it  is  a  thing 
sufficiently  apparent  that  she  (Guenever,  wife  of  King  Arthur) 
was  beautiful,  so  it  is  a  thing  doubted  whether  she  was  chaste, 
yea  or  no.  Truly,  so  far  as  I  can  with  honestie,  I  would  spare 
the  impayred  honour  and  fame  of  noble  women.  But  yet  the 
truth  of  the  historic  pluckes  me  by  the  eare,  and  willeth  not 
onely,  but  commandeth  me  to  declare  what  the  ancients  have 
deemed  of  her.  To  wrestle  or  contend  with  so  great  authoritie 
were  indeede  unto  mei  a  controversie,  and  that  greate.'  {Asser- 
tion 0}  King  Arthure.  Imprinted  by  John  Wolfe,  London,  1582.) 

438 


NOTES 

Note  14,  p.  48 

'In  our  forefathers'  tyme,  when  Papistrie,  as  a  standyng 
poole,  covered  and  overflowed  all  England,  fewe  books  were 
read  in  our  tongue,  sa vying  certaine  bookes  of  chevalrie,  as  they 
said,  for  pastime  and  pleasure;  which,  as  some  say,  were  made  in 
the  monasteries,  by  idle  monks  or  wanton  chanons.  As  one,  for 
example,  La  Morte  d'Arthure;  the  whole  pleasure  of  which  book 
standeth  in  two  speciall  poynts,  in  open  manslaughter  and  bold 
bawdrye;  in  which  booke  they  be  counted  the  noblest  knightes 
that  do  kill  most  men  without  any  quarrell,  and  commit  fowlest 
adoulteries  by  sutlest  shiftes;  as  Sir  Launcelot,  with  the  wife  of 
King  Arthur,  his  master;  Sir  Tristram,  with  the  wife  of  King 
Marke,  his  uncle;  Sir  Lamerocke,  with  the  wife  of  King  Lote, 
that  was  his  own  aunt.  This  is  good  stufife  for  wise  men  to  laugh 
at,  or  honest  men  to  take  pleasure  at,  yet  I  know  when  God's 
Bible  was  banished  the  court,  and  La  Morte  d'Arthure  received 
into  the  prince's  chamber.'   (Ascham's  Schoolmaster.) 

Note  15,  p.  49 

See  the  comic  tale  of  The  Boy  and  the  Mantle,  in  the  third 
volume  of  Percy's  Reliques  of  Ancient  Poetry,  from  the  Breton  or 
Norman  original  of  which  Ariosto  is  supposed  to  have  taken  his 
Tale  of  the  Enchanted  Cup. 

Note  16,  p.  143 

Such  is  the  law  in  the  New  Forest,  Hampshire,  tending  greatly 
to  increase  the  various  settlements  of  thieves,  smugglers,  and 
deer-stealers,  who  infest  it.  In  the  forest  courts  the  presiding 
judge  wears  as  a  badge  of  office  an  antique  stirrup,  said  to  have 
been  that  of  William  Rufus.  See  Mr.  William  Rose's  spirited 
poem,  entitled  The  Red  King. 

Note  17,  p.  148 

In  their  hasty  evacuation  of  Campo  Mayor,  the  French  pulled 
down  a  part  of  the  rampart,  and  marched  out  over  the  glacis. 

439 


NOTES 

Note  i8,  p.  209 

In  ancient  Irish  poetry,  the  standard  of  Fion,  or  Fingal,  is 
called  the  Sun-burst,  an  epithet  feebly  rendered  by  the  Sun- 
beam of  Macpherson. 

Note  19,  p.  256 

It  is  necessary  to  mention,  that  the  allusions  in- this  piece  are 
all  local,  and  addressed  only  to  the  Edinburgh  audience.  The 
new  prisons  of  the  city,  on  the  Calton  Hill,  are  not  far  from  the 
theatre. 

Note  20,  p.  257 

At  this  time,  the  public  of  Edinburgh  was  much  agitated  by 
a  lawsuit  betwixt  the  magistrates  and  many  of  the  inhabitants 
of  the  city,  concerning  a  range  of  new  buildings  on  the  western 
side  of  the  North  Bridge,  which  the  latter  insisted  should  be 
removed  as  a  deformity. 

Note  21,  p.  267 

These  verses  are  a  literal  translation  of  an  ancient  Swiss 
ballad  upon  the  battle  of  Sempach,  fought  9th  July,  1386,  being 
the  victory  by  which  the  Swiss  cantons  established  their  inde- 
pendence; the  author,  Albert  Tchudi,  denominated  the  Souter, 
from  his  profession  of  a  shoemaker.  He  was  a  citizen  of  Lucerne, 
esteemed  highly  among  his  countrymen,  both  for  his  powers  as 
a  Meister ^Singer,  or  minstrel,  and  his  courage  as  a  soldier;  so 
that  he  might  share  the  praise  conferred  by  Collins  on  /Eschylus, 
that  — 

Not  alone  he  nursed  the  poet's  flame, 

But  reach'd  from  Virtue's  hand  the  patriot  steel. 

The  circumstance  of  their  being  written  by  a  poet  returning 
from  the  well-fought  field  he  describes,  and  in  which  his  coun- 
try's fortune  was  secured,  may  confer  on  Tchudi's  verses  an 
interest  which  they  are  not  entitled  to  claim  from  their  poetical 
merit.  But  ballad  poetry,  the  more  literally  it  is  translated,  the 

440 


NOTES 

more  it  loses  its  simplicity,  without  acquiring  either  grace  or 
strength;  and  therefore  some  of  the  faults  of  the  verses  must  be 
imputed  to  the  translator's  feeling  it  a  duty  to  keep  as  closely 
as  possible  to  his  original.  The  various  puns,  rude  attempts  at 
pleasantry,  and  disproportioned  episodes,  must  be  set  down  to 
Tchudi's  account,  or  to  the  taste  of  his  age. 

The  military  antiquary  will  derive  some  amusement  from  the 
minute  particulars  which  the  martial  poet  has  recorded.  The 
mode  in  which  the  Austrian  men-at-arms  received  the  charge  of 
the  Swiss,  was  by  forming  a  phalanx,  which  they  defended  with 
their  long  lances.  The  gallant  Winkelreid,  who  sacrificed  his 
own  life  by  rushing  among  the  spears,  clasping  in  his  arms  as 
many  as  he  could  grasp,  and  thus  opening  a  gap  in  those  iron 
battalions,  is  celebrated  in  Swiss  history.  When  fairly  mingled 
together,  the  unwieldy  length  of  their  weapons,  and  cumbrous 
weight  of  their  defensive  armour,  rendered  the  Austrian  men- 
at-arms  a  very  unequal  match  for  the  light-armed  mountaineers. 
The  victories  obtained  by  the  Swiss  over  the  German  chivalry, 
hitherto  deemed  as  formidable  on  foot  as  on  horseback,  led  to 
important  changes  in  the  art  of  war.  The  poet  describes  the 
Austrian  knights  and  squires  as  cutting  the  peaks  from  their 
boots  ere  they  could  act  upon  foot,  in  allusion  to  an  inconvenient 
piece  of  foppery,  'often  mentioned  in  the  Middle  Ages.  Leopold 
III,  Archduke  of  Austria,  called  'The  handsome  man-at-arms,' 
was  slain  in  the  battle  of  Sempach,  with  the  flower  of  his  chivalry. 

Note  22,  p.  268 

All  the  Swiss  clergy  who  were  able  to  bear  arms  fought  in  this 
patriotic  war. 

Note  23,  p.  269 

This  seems  to  allude  to  the  preposterous  fashion,  during  the 
Middle  Ages,  of  wearing  boots  with  the  points  or  peaks  turned 
upwards,  and  so  long,  that  in  some  cases  they  were  fastened  to 
the  knees  of  the  wearer  with  small  chains.  When  they  alighted 
to  fight  upon  foot,  it  would  seem  that  the  Austrian  gentlemen 

441 


NOTES 

found  it  necessary  to  cut  off  these  peaks  that  they  might  move 
with  the  necessary  activity. 

Note  24,  p.  275 

The  original  of  these  verses  occurs  in  a  collection  of  German 
popular  songs,  entitled  Sammlimg  Deulschen  Volkslieder  (Berlin, 
1807),  published  by  Messrs.  Busching  and  Von  der  Hagen,  both, 
and  more  especially  the  last,  distinguished  for  their  acquaint- 
ance with  the  ancient  popular  poetry  and  legendary  history  of 
Germany. 

In  the  German  editor's  notice  of  the  ballad,  it  is  stated  to 
have  been  extracted  from  a  manuscript  chronicle  of  Nicolaus 
Thomann,  chaplain  to  Saint  Leonard  in  Weisenhorn,  which 
bears  the  date  1533;  and  the  song  is  stated  by  the  author  to 
have  been  generally  sung  in  the  neighbourhood  at  that  early 
period.  Thomann,  as  quoted  by  the  German  editor,  seems  faith- 
fully to  have  believed  the  event  he  narrates.  He  quotes  tomb- 
Stones  and  obituaries  to  prove  the  existence  of  the  personages 
of  the  ballad,  and  discovers  that  there  actually  died,  on  the  nth 
May,  1349,  a  Lady  Von  Neuffen,  Countess  of  Marstetten,  who 
was,  by  birth,  of  the  house  of  Moringer.  This  lady  he  supposes 
to  have  been  Moringer's  daughter,  mentioned  in  the  ballad. 
He  quotes  the  same  authority  for  the  death  of  Berckhold  Von 
Neuffen,  in  the  same  year.  The  editors,  on  the  whole,  seem  to 
embrace  the  opinion  of  Professor  Smith  of  Ulm,  who,  from  the 
language  of  the  ballad,  ascribes  its  date  to  the  fifteenth  century. 

The  legend  itself  turns  on  an  incident  not  peculiar  to  Ger- 
many, and  which,  perhaps,  was  not  unlikely  to  happen  in  more 
instances  than  one,  when  crusaders  abode  long  in  the  Holy 
Land,  and  their  disconsolate  dames  received  no  tidings  of  their 
fate.  A  story  very  similar  in  circumstances,  but  without  the 
miraculous  machinery  of  Saint  Thomas,  is  told  of  one  of  the 
ancient  Lords  of  Haigh  Hall  in  Lancashire,  the  patrimonial 
inheritance  of  the  late  Countess  of  Balcarras;  and  the  particulars 
are  represented  on  stained  glass  upon  a  window  in  that  ancient 
manor-house. 


442 


NOTES 

Note  25,  p.  365 

Sir  George  Clark  of  Pennycuik,  Bart.  The  Baron  of  Penny- 
cuik  is  bound  by  his  tenure,  whenever  the  king  comes  to  Edin- 
burgh, to  receive  him  at  the  Harestone  (in  which  the  standard 
of  James  IV  was  erected  when  his  army  encamped  on  the 
Boroughmuir,  before  his  fatal  expedition  to  England),  now  built 
into  the  park-wall  at  the  end  of  Tipperlain  Lone,  near  the 
Boroughmuir-head;  and,  standing  thereon,  to  give  three  blasts 
on  a  horn. 


GLOSSARY 


abbaye,  an  abbey. 

aboon,  above. 

abye,  atone  for. 

acton,  a  buckram  vest  worn  under 
armour. 

ain,  own. 

air,  a  sand-bank,  an  open  sea-beach. 

airn,  iron. 

almagest,  an  astronomical  or  astro- 
logical treatise. 

Almayn,  German. 

amice,  an  ecclesiastical  vestment. 

amrie,  ambry,  a  cupboaTd,  a  locker. 

an,  if. 

ance,  once. 

ane,  one. 

anerly,  alone. 

aneugh,  enough. 

angel,  an  old  English  gold  coin. 

arquebus,  a  hagbut,  or  heavy  musket. 

assagay,  a  slender  spear  or  lance. 

atabal,  a  kind  of  kettle-drum. 

auld,  old;  auld  Reekie,  Edinburgh. 

aventayle,  the  movable  front  of  a 
helmet. 

avoid  thee,  begone. 

bairn,  a  child. 

baith,  both. 

baldric,  a  belt. 

bale,  a  beacon-fire. 

ballium,  a  fortified  court. 

bandelier,  a  belt  for  carrying  ammu- 
nition. 

ban-dog,  a  watch-dog. 

bandrol,  a  kind  of  banner  or  ensign. 

banes,  bones. 

bang,  strike  violently,  beat,  surpass. 

barbican,  the  fortification  at  a  castle- 
gate. 

barded,  armoured  (said  of  horses). 

barding,  horse-armour. 

barret-cap,  a  cloth  cap. 

bartizan,  a  small  overhanging  turret. 


basnet,  basinet,  a  light  helmet, 
bassened,  having  a  white  stripe  down 

the  face. 
battalia,  a  battalion,  an  army  (not  a 

plural), 
battle,  an  army. 
bauld,  bold. 
beadsman,  one  hired  to  offer  prayers 

for  another. 
beamed,  having  a  horn  of  the  fourth 

year. 
beaver,  the  movable  front  of  a  helmet. 
Beltane,  the  first  of  May  (a  Celtic 

festival). 
bend,  bind. 

bend  (noun),  a  heraldic  term, 
bent,  a  slope;  also,  aimed, 
beshrew,  may  evil  befall,  confound, 
bicker,  a  cup,  a  wooden  vessel;  also, 

to  make  a  brawling  sound, 
bickering,  quivering,  flashing. 
bilboe,  a  sword. 

bill,  a  kind  of  battle-axe  or  halberd, 
billmen,  troops  armed  with  the  bill, 
black-jack,  a  leather  jug  or  pitcher, 
blaze,  blazon,  proclaim, 
b'ink,  a  glimpse. 
bluidy,  bloody. 
bonail,  i.  e.,  bonallez,  a  god-speed, 

parting  with  a  friend, 
bonnet-pieces,   gold  coins  with  the 

king's  cap  (bonnet)  on  them. 
boot  and  bale,  help  and  hurt. 
boune,  bowne,  prepare,  make  ready, 
boune,  ready,  prepared. 
bountith,  a  gratuity. 
bourd,  a  jest. 

bow  o'  kye,  a  herd  of  cattle. 
bower,  a  chamber,  a   lodging-place, 

a  lady's  apartments. 
bra',  braw,  brave. 
brach,  a  bitch-hound. 
bracken,  fern. 
brae,  a  hillside. 


445 


GLOSSARY 


braid,  broad. 

branking,  prancing. 

brast,  burst. 

bratchet,  a  slowhound. 

braw,  worthy,  excellent. 

brigantine,  a  kind  of  body  armour. 

brigg,  a  bridge. 

brock,  a  badger. 

broke,  quartered  (the  cutting  up  of 

a  deer). 
brose,  broth. 
brotikins,  buskins, 
brugh,  borough,  town. 
buff,  a  thick  cloth, 
burn,  burnie,  a  brook.  ^ 
busk,  dress,  prepare. 
buxom,  lively. 
by  times,  betimes,  early. 

caird,  a  tinker. 

cairn,  a  heap  of  stones,  a  rocky  point. 

canna,  cotton-grass. 

cantle,  the  crown. 

canty,  cheerful,  lively. 

cap  of  maintenance,  a  cap  worn  by 
the  king-at-arms  or  chief  herald. 

carle,  a  fellow. 

carline,  a  woman,  a  witch. 

carp,  talk. 

cast,  a  pair  (of  hawks). 

cast,  kind,  sort,  style. 

causey,  a  causeway. 

chanters,  the  pipes  of  the  bagpipe. 

check  at,  meditate  attack  (in  fal- 
conry). 

cheer,  face,  countenance. 

chief,  a  child,  a  fellow. 

claymore,  a  large  sword. 

clerk,  a  scholar. 

clip,  clasp,  embrace. 

clout,  mend. 

cogie,  a  small  wooden  bowl. 

combust,  an  astrological  term. 

corbel,  a  bracket. 

coronach,  a  dirge. 

correi,  a  hollow  in  a  hillside,  a  resort 
of  game. 

couthie,  genial,  pleasing. 

crabs,  crab-apples. 

craig,  the  head. 


crenel!,  an  aperture  for  shooting  ar- 
rows through, 
cresset,  a  hanging  lamp, 
crouse,  bold. 

cuish,  a  thigh-piece  of  armour, 
cuittle,  coa.x,  wheedle. 
culver,  a  small  cannon. 
cumber,  trouble. 

cummer,  a  gossip,  an  intimate  friend, 
curch,  a  matron's  coif,  or  head-dress, 
cushat-dove,  a  wood-pigeon. 
cutty,  short. 

daggled,  bespattered. 

darkling,  in  the  dark. 

daunder,  saunter,  wander. 

daunton,  subdue,  tame. 

deas,  a  dais,  a  platform. 

deft,  skilful. 

demi-volt,  a  movement  in  horseman- 
ship. 

dern,  hid. 

descant,  a  melodious  accompaniment 
to  a  simple  musical  theme. 

dight,  decked,  dressed,  prepared. 

dingle,  a  closely  wooded  hollow. 

dinna,  do  not. 

dinnle,  tinkle,  thrill. 

dint,  strike,  knock. 

dirdum,  an  uproar. 

donjon,  the  main  tower  or  keep  of  a 
castle. 

doom,  judgment,  arbitration. 

double  treasure,  a  kind  of  border  in 
heraldry. 

douce,  quiet,  steady. 

dought,  was  able,  could. 

down,  a  hill. 

downa,  do  not. 

dramock,  meal  and  water. 

dree,  drie,  bear,  suffer,  endure. 

drouth,  thirst. 

duddies,  rags,  tatters. 

duniewassals,  gentlemen  of  second- 
ary rank. 

dunts,  large  pieces. 

dwam,  a  swoon,  a  fainting  fit. 


earn,  erne,  an  eagle. 
ebumine,  made  of  ivory. 


446 


GLOSSARY 


een,  eyes. 

embossed, exhausted  by  running,  foam- 
ing at  the  mouth  (hunter's  term). 
emprise,  enterprise, 
ensenzie,  an  ensign,  a  war-cry. 
even,  spotless,  pure. 

failzie,  failure. 

falcon,  a  kind  of  small  cannon. 

fand,  found. 

fang,  to  catch. 

far  yaud,  the  signal  made  by  a  shep- 
herd to  his  dog,  when  he  is  to  drive 
away  some  sheep  at  a  distance. 

Pastern's  night,  Shrove  Tuesday. 

fauld,  a  sheepfold. 

fay,  faith. 

fell,  a  moorland  ridge. 

fere,  a  companion. 

ferlie,  a  marvel. 

fieldfare,  a  species  of  thrush.- 

fleech,  flatter,  cajole. 

fiemens-firth,  an  asylum  for  outlaws. 

fiyting,  chiding,  scolding. 

foray,  a  predatory  inroad. 

force,  a  waterfall. 

fosse,  a  ditch,  a  moat. 

fou,  full,  tipsy. 

frae,  from. 

fretted,  adorned  with  raised  work. 

fro,  from. 

frounced,  flounced,  plaited. 

fulham,  a  die  loaded  at  the  corner. 

gae,  go;  gaed,  went. 

gaitling,  a  young  child. 

galliard,  a  lively  dance. 

gallowglasses,  heavy-armed  soldiers. 

gane,  gone. 

gang,  go. 

gar,  make. 

gazghound,  a  hound  that  pursues  by 

sight  rather  than  scent. 
gear,  goods,  possessions. 
gent,  high-born,  valiant  and  courteous. 
gest,  a  deed,  an  exploit. 
ghast,  ghastly. 
gie,  give. 
gin,  if. 
gio,  a  deep  ravine  which  admits  the  sea. 


gipon,  a  doublet  or  jacket  worn  under 

armour, 
glaive,  a  broadsword. 
glamour,  a  magical  illusion, 
glee-maiden,  a  dancing-girl, 
gleg,  quick,  sharp,  lively, 
glidders,  slippery  stones, 
glozing,  flattering. 
gonfalone,  a  banner  or  ensign, 
gorged,  having  the  throat  cut. 
gorget,  armour  for  the  throat, 
graith,  armour, 
gramarye,  magic, 
gramercy,     great    thanks     (French, 

grand  merci). 
gree,   grie,  prize. 

greese,  fat;  hart  of  greese,  a  fat  hart, 
greet  and  grane,  weep  and  groan, 
gripple,  grasping,  miserly, 
grisly,  horrible,  grim. 
guarded,  edged,  trimmed, 
gude,  good, 
gules,  red  (heraldic), 
gullies,  large  knives, 
gylte,  a  young  sow. 

haaf,  the  deep  or  open  sea. 

hackbuteer,  a  soldier  armed  with 
hackbut  or  hagbut,  a  musketeer. 

hae't,  haet,  an  atom. 

haffets,  cheeks. 

hag,  broken  ground  in  a  bog. 

hagbut  (hackbut,  haquebut,  arque- 
bus, harquebuss,  etc.),  a  heavy 
musket. 

halberd,  halbert,  a  combined  spear 
and  battle-axe. 

hale,  haul,  drag. 

hame,  home. 

handsel,  a  gift,  earnest  money. 

hanger,  a  short  broadsword. 

harried,  plundered,  sacked. 

hauberk,  a  coat  of  mail. 

baud,  hold. 

hearse,  a  canopy  over  a  tomb,  or  the 
tomb  itself. 

heeze,  heise,  hoist,  raise. 

helyer,  a  cavern  into  which  the  tide 
flows. 

hent,  seize. 


447 


GLOSSARY 


heriot,  tribute  due  to  a  lord  from  a 

vassal, 
heron-shew,  a  young  heron, 
hight,  called,  named,  promised, 
hirsels,  flocks  of  sheep, 
holt,  wood,  woodland, 
hosen,  hose  (old  plural). 
howf,  howff,  a  haunt,  a  resort. 

idlesse,  idleness, 
ilka,  ilk,  each,  every, 
imp,  a  child, 
inch,  an  island. 

jack,  a  leather  jacket,  a  kind  of  ar- 
mour for  the  body. 

jennet,  a  small  Spanish  horse. 

jerldn,  a  kind  of  short  coat. 

jerrid,  a  wooden  javelin  about  five 
feet  lon;^. 

jowing,  ringing  or  tolling. 

kale,  broth. 

kames,  combs. 

kebbuck,  cheese. 

keek,  peep. 

keffal,  a  horse. 

ken,  know. 

kern,  a  light-armed  soldier  (Celtic). 

kill,  a  cell. 

kipper,  salmon  or  sea  trout. 

kirk,  a  church. 

kirn,  the  Scottish  harvest-home. 

kirtle,  a  skirt,  a  gown. 

kist,  a  chest. 

kittle,  ticklish,  delicate. 

knosp,  a  knob  (architectural). 

knowe,  a  knoll,  a  hillock. 

liye,  cows. 

lair,  learning. 

lair,  to  stick  in  the  mud. 

lang-hafted,  long-handled. 

largesse,  largess,  liberality,  gift. 

lauds,  psalms. 

launcegay,  a  kind  of  spear. 

laverock,  a  lark. 

leading-staff,  a  staff   carried   by    a 

commanding  officer. 
leaguer,  a  camp. 


leal,  leal-fast,  loyal,  faithful. 

leash,  a  thong  for  leading  a  grey- 
hound; also  the  hounds  so  led. 

leglin,  a  milk-pail. 

leister,  to  spear. 

leven,  a  lawn,  an  open  space  between 
or  among  woods. 

leveret,  a  young  hare. 

levin,  lightning,  thunderbolt. 

libbard,  a  leopard. 

Lincoln  green,  a  cloth  worn  by  hunts- 
men. 

linn,  a  waterfall,  a  pool  below  a  fall, 
a  precipice. 

linstock,  lintstock,  a  handle  for  the 
ILnt  or  match  used  in  firing  cannon. 

lists,  the  enclosure  for  a  tournament. 

litherlie,  mischievous,  vicious. 

loon,  a  rogue,  a  strumpet. 

loot,  let. 

lorn,  lost. 

loup,  leap. 

lourd,  rather. 

lout,  bend,  stoop. 

lunzie,  lunyie,  loin. 

lurch,  rob. 

lurcher,  a  dog  that  lurches  (lurks),  or 
lies  in  wait  for  game. 

lurdane,  a  blockhead. 

lyke-wake,  the  watching  of  a  corpse 
before  burial. 

lyme-dog,  a  bloodhound. 

mair,  more. 

make,  do. 

malison,  a  malediction,  a  curse. 

Malvoisie,  Malmsey  wine. 

march,  a  border,  a  frontier. 

march-treason,   offences   committed 

on  the  Border. 
marrows,  companions, 
massy,  massive. 
maukin,  a  hare, 
maun,  must. 
mavis,  the  thrush. 

mazers,  large  drinking  cups  or  goblets, 
meikle,  much,  great. 
mell,  melle,  meddle. 
mark,  a  Scottish  coin  worth  about 

133  d. 


448 


GLOSSARY 


merle,  the  blackbird, 
merlin,  a  species  of  falcon, 
mewed,  shut  up,  confined, 
mickle,  much,  great, 
minion,  favourite, 
miniver,  a  kind  of  fur. 
mirk,  dark, 
mony,  many. 

moonlight,  smuggled  spirits, 
morion,  a  steel  cap,  a  helmet, 
morrice-pike,  a  long  heavy  spear, 
morris,  a  kind  of  dance, 
morse,  the  walrus. 
morsing-homs,  powder-flasks, 
moss,  a  morass,  a  bog. 
mot,  mote,  must,  might. 
muckle,  much,  large, 
muir,  a  moor,  a  heath. 
mullet,  a  figure  of  a  star,  usually  with 
five  straight  points. 

nae,  no. 

need-fire,  a  beacon-fire. 

neist,  next. 

nese,  a  nose. 

noup,  a  round-headed  eminence. 

oe,  an  island. 

O  hone,  alas! 

Omrahs,  nobles  (Turkish). 

or,  gold  (heraldic). 

orra,  odd,  occasional, 

owches,  jewels. 

ower,  over,  too. 

pall,  fine  or  rich  cloth. 

pallioun,  a  pavilion. 

palmer,  a  pilgrim  to  the  Holy  Land. 

pardoner,  a  seller  of  priestly  indul- 
gences. 

partisan,  a  halberd,  a  combination  of 
spear  and  battle-axe. 

peel,  a  Border  tower. 

pensils,  small  pennons  or  streamers. 

pentacle,  a  magic  diagram. 

pibroch,  a  Highland  air  on  the  bag- 
pipe. 

pied,  variegated. 

pike,  pick. 

pinnet,  a  pinnacle. 


pirn,  a  spool,  a  reel. 

placket,  a  stomacher,  a  petticoat,  a 

slit  in  a  petticoat,  etc. 
plate-jack,  coat-armour. 
plump,  a  body  of  cavalry,  a  group,  a 

company. 
poke,  a  sack,  a  pocket, 
port,  a  lively  tune,  a  catch. 
post  and  pair,  an  old  game  at  cards, 
pow,  a  head. 

pranked,  dressed  up,  adorned, 
presence,  the  royal  presence-chamber, 
pricked,  spurred, 
pricker,     a     horseman,    a    mounted 

soldier. 
propine,  a  present. 
prore,  the  prow. 
pryse,  the  note  blown  at  the  death 

of  the  game. 
puir,  poor. 
pursuivant,  an  attendant  on  a  herald. 

quaigh,  a  wooden  cup,  composed  of 

staves  hooped  together. 
quarry,  game  (hunter's  term), 
quatre-feuille,     quatrefoil     (Gothic 

ornament). 
quean,  a  young  woman,  a  wench, 
quit,  requite. 

rack,  a  floating  cloud. 

racking,  flying,  like  a  breaking  cloud. 

rade,  rode. 

rais,  the  master  of  a  vessel. 

reads,  counsels. 

reave,  tear  away. 

rebeck,  an  ancient  musical  instru- 
ment, an  early  form  of  the  fiddle. 

rede,  a  story,  counsel,  advice. 

reif,  plunder,  robbery. 

reim-kennar,  one  skilled  in  magic 
rhymes. 

reiver,  a  plunderer,  a  robber. 

reliquaire,  a  repository  for  relics. 

retrograde,  an  astrological  term. 

rie,  a  prince  or  chief;  O  bone  a  rie, 
alas  for  the  chief  I 

rin,  run. 

risp,  creak. 

rive,  tear. 


60 


449 


GLOSSARY 


rochet,  a  bishop's  short  surplice, 
rokelay,  a  short  cloak. 
rood,  a  cross  (as  in  Holy-Rood), 
room,  a  piece  of  land. 
rowan,  the  mountain-ash. 
runnel,  a  small  stream  of  water, 
ruth,  pity,  compassion. 

sack.  Sherry  or  Canary  wine. 

sackless,  innocent. 

sae,  so. 

saga,  a  Scandinavian  epic. 

sained,  blessed. 

sair,  sore,  very. 

sail,  shall. 

saltier,  in  heraldry  an  ordinary  in  the 
form  of  a  St.  Andrew's  cross. 

salvo-shot,  a  salute  of  artillery. 

sark,  a  shirt. 

saye,  say,  assertion. 

scalds,  Scandinavian  minstrels. 

scallop,  a  pilgrim's  cockle-shell  worn 
as  an  emblem. 

scapular,  an  ecclesiastical  scarf  or 
short  cloak. 

scathe,  harm,  injury. 

scaur,  a  cliff,  a  precipitous  bank  of 
earth. 

scaur'd,  scared. 

scrae,  a  bank  of  loose  stones. 

scrogg,  a  stunted  tree,  underwood. 

sea-dog,  a  seal. 

seguidille,  a  Spanish  dance. 

selcouth,  strange,  uncouth. 

selle,  a  saddle. 

seneschal,  the  steward  of  a  castle. 

sewer,  an  ofiBcer  who  serves  up  a  feast. 

shalm,  a  shawm,  a  musical  instru- 
ment. 

sheeling,  a  shepherd's  hut. 

sheen,  bright,  shining. 

shent,  shamed. 

shirra,  a  sheriff. 

shrieve,  shrive,  absolve. 

shroud,  a  garment,  a  plaid. 

sic,  such. 

siller,  silver. 

skerry,  a  flat  insulated  rock  not  sub- 
ject to  the  overflowing  of  the  sea. 

skirl,  scream,  sound  shrilly. 


sleights,  tricks,  stratagems. 

slogan,  the  war-cry  or  gathering  word 

of  a  Border  clan, 
snood,  a  maiden's  hair-band  or  fillet, 
soland,  solan-goose,  gannet. 
sooth,  true,  truth. 
sped,  despatched,  '  done  for.' 
speer,  speir,  ask. 
speerings,  tidings. 
spell,  make  out,  study  out. 
sperthe,  a  battle-axe. 
splent,  a  splinter, 
spring,  a  quick  and  cheerful  tune. 
springlet,  a  small  spring, 
spule,  a  shoulder. 
spurn,  kick. 
stack,  a  precipitous  rock  rising  from 

the  sea. 
stag  of  ten,  one  having  ten  branches 

on  his  antlers, 
stamock,  the  stomach, 
stance,  a  station, 
stane,  stone. 
stark,  stout,  stalwart, 
steek,  shut. 
stern,  a  star. 
sterte,  started. 
stirrup-cup,  a  parting  cup. 
stole,  an  ecclesiastical  scarf  or  robe, 
stoled,  wearing  the  stole, 
store,  stored  up. 
stoun,  stown,  stolen, 
stour,  severe. 
stowre,  battle,  tumult, 
strain,  stock,  race, 
strath,  a  broad  river-valley, 
strathspey,  a  Highland  dance, 
streight,  strait. 
strook,  struck,  stricken, 
stumah,  faithful. 
swith,  haste,  quickly, 
syde,  long, 
syne,  since;  lang  syne,  long  ago. 

tabard,  a  herald's  coat, 
tait,  a  tuft. 
targe,  a  shield, 
tarn,  a  mountain  lake, 
tartan,  the  full  Highland  dress,  made 
of  the  chequered  stuff  so  termed. 


450 


GLOSSARY 


tett,  a  plait  or  plaited  knot. 

thraw,  twist,  thwart. 

throstle,  a  thrush. 

tide,  time. 

tine,  lose ;  tint,  lost. 

tire,  a  head-dress. 

toom,  empty. 

torsk,  a  fish  of  the  cod  family. 

tottered,  tattered,  ragged. 

toun,  a  town. 

train,  allure,  entice. 

trental,  a  service  of  thirty  masses  for 

a  deceased  person, 
tressure,  a  border  (heraldic). 
trews,  Highland  trousers. 
trine,  threefold,  an  astrological  term. 
trow,  believe,  trust, 
trowls,  passes  round, 
truncheon,  a  staS,  the   shaft   of   a 

spear. 
twa,  two. 
tyke,  a  dog. 
tyne,  lose. 

uncouth,  strange,  unknown. 

uneath,  not  easily,  with  difficulty. 

unsparred,  unbarred. 

upsees,  a  Bacchanalian  cry  or  in- 
terjection, borrowed  from  the 
Dutch. 

urchin,  an  elf. 

vail,  avail. 

vail,  lower,  let  fall. 

vair,  a  kind  of  fur,  probably  of  the 
squirrel. 

vantage-coign,  an  advantageous  po- 
sition. 

vaunt-brace,  or  wam-brace,  armour 
for  the  forearm. 

vaward,  van,  front. 

vUde,  vile. 

voe,  a  creek  or  inlet  of  the  sea. 


wad,  would 

wadmaal,  a  thick  woollen  cloth. 

wan,  won. 

Warden-raid,  a  raid  commanded  by 

a  Border  Warden  in  person, 
ware,  beware  of. 
warlock,  a  wizard, 
warped,  frozen, 
warre,  worse. 

warrison,  a  note  of  assault, 
warstle,  wrestle. 

wassail,  spiced  ale,  a  drinking-bout, 
wauk,  wake, 
waur,  worse. 
weapon-schaw,  a  military  array  of  a 

county,  a  muster. 
weed,  a  garment. 
weird,  fate,  doom. 
whenas,  when. 
whilere,  while-ere,  erewhile,  a  while 

ago. 
whiles,  sometimes, 
whilom,  whilome,  formerly, 
whin,  gorse,  furze, 
whingers,  knives,  poniards, 
whinyard,  a  hunter's  knife, 
wick,  an  open  bay. 
wight,  active,  gallant,  war-like, 
wight-wapping,  swift  moving. 
wDdering,  bewildering, 
wimple,  a  veil. 
woe-worth,  woe  be  to. 
woned,  dwelt. 

wraith,  an  apparition,  a  spectre, 
wreak,  avenge. 
wud,  would. 
wuddie,  the  gallows. 

yare,  ready, 
yate,  a  gate. 
yaud,  see  far  yaud. 
yerk, jerk. 
yode,  went. 


INDEXES 


In  this  edition  the  Poetical  Works  form  Volumes  46-50.   They 
are  referred  to  in  the  Indexes  as  I,  II,  III,  IV,  and  V:  — 

I.    The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,  and  Early  Ballads  and  Lyrics. 
II.    Marmion,  and  The  Vision  of  Don  Roderick. 

III.  The  Lady  of  the  Lake,  Harold  the  Dauntless,  and  The  Field 

of  Waterloo. 

IV.  Rokeby,  and  The  Lord  of  the  Isles. 

V.    The  Bridal  of  Triermain,  and  Miscellaneous  Poems. 


-* 


INDEX   OF   FIRST    LINES 

[Including  the  first  Lines  of  Songs  contained  in  the  longer  Poems] 

A  cat  of  yore  —  or  else  old  ^sop  lied  — ,  v,  256. 

A  mightier  wizard  far  than  I,  v,  319. 

A  thousand  winters  dark  have  flown,  v,  336. 

A  weary  lot  is  thine,  fair  maid,  iv,  103. 

A  weary  month  has  wandered  o'er,  v,  185. 

Admire  not  that  I  gained  the  prize,  V,  421. 

Ah!  County  Guy,  the  hour  is  nigh,  v,  375. 

Ah,  poor  Louise!  the  livelong  day,  v,  405. 

Alas!  alas!  v,  317. 

All  joy  was  bereft  me  the  day  that  you  left  me,  v,  125. 

Allen-a-Dale  has  no  faggot  for  burning,  iv,  104. 

Amid  these  aisles  where  once  his  precepts  showed,  v,  138. 

An  hour  with  thee!   When  earliest  day,  V,  402. 

And  art  thou  cold  and  lowly  laid,  iii,  205. 

And  did  ye  not  hear  of  a  mirth  befell,  V,  165. 

And  ne'er  but  once,  my  son,  he  says,  i,  85. 

And  what  though  winter  will  pinch  severe,  V,  226. 

And  whither  would  you  lead  me  then,  iv,  170. 

And  you  shall  deal  the  funeral  dole,  v,  345. 

Anna-Marie,  love,  up  is  the  sun,  V,  304. 

As  lords  their  labourers'  hire  delay,  v,  383. 

As  the  worn  war-horse,  at  the  trumpet's  sound,  v,  247. 

Ask  thy  heart,  whose  secret  cell,  v,  319. 

Assist  me,  ye  friends  of  Old  Books  and  Old  Wine,  v,  372. 

Autumn  departs  —  but  still  his  mantle's  fold,  iv,  231. 

Ave  Maria!  maiden  mild!  iii,  107, 

Ay!  and  I  taught  thee  the  word  and  the  spell,  V,  3 1 5. 

Birds  of  omen  dark  and  foul,  V,  292. 

Bold  knights  and  fair  dames,  to  my  harp  give  an  ear,  I,  75. 

Bring  the  bowl  which  you  boast,  V,  400. 

But  follow,  follow  me,  v,  178. 

By  pathless  march,  by  greenwood  tree,  V,  400. 

By  ties  mysterious  linked,  our  fated  race,  v,  320. 

Canny  moment,  lucky  fit,  v,  203. 

Cauld  is  my  bed.  Lord  Archibald,  v,  265. 

455 


INDEX   OF  FIRST  LINES 

Champion,  famed  for  warlike  toil,  v,  347. 
Come,  Lucy,  while  it  is  morning  hour,  v,  9. 
Complain  not  on  me,  child  of  clay,  v,  321. 

Daring  youth!  for  thee  't  is  well,  v,  318. 

Dark  Ahriman,  whom  Irak  still,  v,  392. 

Dark  are  thy  words,  and  severe,  V,  337. 

Dark  shall  be  light,  V,  206. 

Dear  John,  —  I  some  time  ago  wrote  to  inform  his,  V,  385. 

Dim  burns  the  once  bright  star  of  Avenel,  v,  321. 

Dinas  Emlinn,  lament;  for  the  moment  is  nigh,  V,  115. 

Donald  Caird  's  come  again,  v,  260. 

Dust  unto  dust,  V,  306. 

Dwellers  of  the  mountain,  rise,  v,  336. 

Emblem  of  England's  ancient  faith,  v,  176. 
Enchantress,  farewell,  who  so  oft  has  decoyed  me,  v,  358. 

Fair  Brussels,  thou  art  far  behind,  iii,  317. 

Far  in  the  bosom  of  the  deep,  v,  157. 

Fare  thee  well,  thou  holly  green!  v,  324. 

Farewell!  farewell!  the  voice  you  hear,  v,  345. 

Farewell,  merry  maidens,  to  song  and  to  laugh,  V,  343. 

Farewell  to  Mackenneth,  great  Earl  of  the  North,  v,  181. 

Farewell  to  Northmaven,  v,  330. 

Fathoms  deep  beneath  the  wave,  V,  333. 

Fearest  thou  to  go  with  me?  v,  316. 

For  all  our  men  were  very  very  merry,  V,  382. 

For  leagues  along  the  watery  way,  v,  335. 

Forget  thee!   No!  my  worthy  fere!  V,  404. 

Fortune,  my  Foe,  why  dost  thou  frown  on  me?  V,  430. 

Frederick  leaves  the  land  of  France,  i,  95. 

From  heavy  dreams  fair  Helen  rose,  i,  3. 

From  the   brown   crest   of    Newark   its  summons  extending,  v, 

201. 
From  thy  Pomeranian  throne,  iii,  250. 

Glowing  with  love,  on  fire  for  fame,  v,  198. 

Go  sit  old  Cheviot's  crest  below,  i,  94, 

God  protect  brave  Alexander,  V,  219. 

Good  even,  good  fair  moon,  good  even  to  thee,  v,  264. 

Good  evening,  Sir  Priest,  and  so  late  as  you  ride,  v,  311. 

Hail  to  the  Chief  who  in  triumph  advances!  ill,  58. 

456 


INDEX   OF   FIRST   LINES 

Hail  to  thy  cold  and  clouded  beam,  iv,  42. 

Harp  of  the  North,  farewell!  The  hills  grow  dark,  iii,  215. 

Harp  of  the  North!  that  mouldering  long  hast  hung,  III,  9. 

Hawk  and  osprey  screamed  for  joy,  ill,  258. 

He  came;  but  valour  so  had  fired  his  eye,  v,  221. 

He  is  gone  on  the  miountain,  iii,  93. 

He,  whose  heart  for  vengeance  sued,  v,  322. 

Health  to  the  chieftain  from  his  clansman  true!  v,  158, 

Hear  what  Highland  Nora  said,  v,  215. 

Heir  lyeth  John  o'  ye  Girnell,  v,  222. 

Henry  and  King  Pedro  clasping,  v,  428. 

Here  lies  the  volume  thou  hast  boldly  sought,  V,  317. 

Here  lyes  ane  saint  to  prelates  surly,  V,  228, 

Hie  away,  hie  away,  v,  169. 

High  deeds  achieved  of  knightly  fame,  v,  296. 

Hither  we  come,  v,  427. 

Hurra,  hurra!   Our  watch  is  done,  v,  93. 

I  asked  of  my  harp,  'Who  hath  injured  thy  chords?'  v,  389. 
I  climbed  the  dark  brow  of  the  mighty  Hellvellyn,  i,  139. 
I  glance  like  the  wildfire  thro'  country  and  town,  v,  263. 
I  '11  give  thee,  good  fellow,  a  twelvemonth  or  twain,  v,  298. 
I  'm  Madge  of  the  country,  I  'm  Madge  of  the  town,  v,  264. 
I  was  a  wild  and  wayward  boy,  iv,  160. 
Ill  fares  the  bark  with  tackle  riven,  in,  263. 
In  awful  ruins  ^tna  thunders  nigh,  I,  31. 
In  the  bonny  cells  of  Bedlam,  V,  264. 
It  chanced  that  Cupid  on  a  season,  V,  200. 
It  is  the  bonny  butcher  lad,  v,  264. 
It's  up  Glenbarchan's  braes  I  gaed,  v,  169. 
It  was  a  little  naughty  page,  i,  41. 
It  was  an  English  ladye  bright,  l,  278. 

It  was  Dunois,  the  young  and  brave,  was  bound  for  Palestine,  v, 
196. 

Joy  to  the  victors,  the  sons  of  old  Aspen,  I,  42. 

Late,  when  the  autumn  evening  fell,  v,  166. 

Lives  there  a  strain  whose  sounds  of  mounting  fire,  11,  277. 

Look  not  thou  on  beauty's  charming,  v,  290. 

Look  on  my  girdle  —  on  this  thread  of  gold,  v,  321. 

Lord  William  was  born  in  gilded  bower,  in,  240. 

Loud  o'er  my  head  though  awful  thunders  roll,  i,  32. 

Love  wakes  and  weeps,  v,  344. 

457 


INDEX  OF   FIRST  LINES 

Macleod's  wizard  flag  from  the  grey  castle  sallies,  v,  258. 
Maiden,  whose  sorrows  wail  the  Living  Dead,  v,  323. 
Many  a  fathom  dark  and  deep,  v,  316. 
March,  march,  Ettrick  and  Teviotdale,  V,  308. 
Measurers  of  good  and  evil,  v,  414. 
Menseful  maiden  ne'er  should  rise,  V,  347. 
Merrily  swim  we,  the  moon  shines  bright,  V,  309. 
Merry  it  is  in  the  good  greenwood,  in,  121. 
Mortal  warp  and  mortal  woof,  v,  317. 
Mother  darksome.  Mother  dread,  v,  338. 
My  hawk  is  tired  of  perch  and  hood,  in,  208. 
My  wayward  fate  I  needs  must  plain,  v,  135. 

Night  and  morning  were  at  meeting,  v,  189. 
Norman  saw  on  English  oak,  V,  299. 
Not  faster  yonder  rowers'  might.  III,  41. 
November's  hail-cloud  drifts  away,  V,  293. 
November's  sky  is  chill  and  drear,  11,  11. 

O,  Brignall  banks  are  wild  and  fair,  iv,  91. 

O,  dread  was  the  time,  and  more  dreadful  the  omen,  V,  154. 

O  for  a  glance  of  that  gay  Muse's  eye,  v,  229. 

O  for  the  voice  of  that  wild  horn,  V,  252, 

O  hone  a  rie' !  O  hone  a  rie'  1 1,  46. 

O,  hush  thee,  my  babie,  thy  sire  was  a  knight,  V,  207. 

O,  lady,  twine  no  wreath  for  me,  iv,  154. 

O  listen,  listen,  ladies  gay!  i,  285. 

O,  lovers'  eyes  are  sharp  to  see,  v,  123. 

O,  low  shone  the  sun  on  the  fair  lake  of  Toro,  v,  I19. 

O  Maid  of  Isla  from  the  cliff,  V,  356. 

O,  open  the  door,  some  pity  to  show,  v,  121. 

O,  say  not,  my  love,  with  that  mortified  air,  V,  134. 

'O  sleep  ye  sound,  Sir  James,'  she  said,  V,  263. 

O,  tell  me.  Harper,  wherefore  flow,  v,  151. 

O,  who  rides  by  night  thro'  the  woodland  so  wild?  l,  36. 

O,  will  you  hear  a  knightly  tale  of  old  Bohemian  day,  v,  275. 

O,  will  ye  hear  a  mirthful  bourd?  I,  no. 

Of  all  the  birds  on  bush  or  tree,  V,  326. 

Of  all  the  palaces  so  fair,  ll,  145. 

Of  yore,  in  old  England,  it  was  not  thought  good,  V,  384. 

Oh,  I  'm  come  to  the  Low  Country,  v,  405. 

Oh!  young  Lochinvar  is  come  out  of  the  west,  ll,  183. 

On  Ettrick  Forest's  mountains  dun,  v,  354. 

On  Hallow-Mass  Eve,  ere  you  boune  ye  to  rest,  v,  170. 

458 


I 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 

Once  again,  —  but  how  changed  since  my  wanderings  began,  V,  208. 
Our  vicar  still  preaches  that  Peter  and  Poule,  iii,  184. 
Our  work  is  over  —  over  now,  v,  265. 

Pibroch  of  Donuil  Dhu,  v,  212. 
Plain  as  her  native  dignity  of  mind,  V,  289. 
Poor  sinners  whom  the  snake  deceives,  v,  353. 
Proud  Maisie  is  in  the  wood,  v,  266. 

Quake  to  your  foundations  deep,  v,  105. 

Rash  adventurer,  bear  thee  back,  v,  90. 

Rash  thy  deed,  v,  317. 

Red  glows  the  forge  in  Striguil's  bounds,  v,  117. 

Saint  Magnus  control  thee,  that  martyr  of  treason,  V,  346. 

See  the  treasures  Merlin  piled,  v,  95. 

'She  may  be  fair,'  he  sang,  'but  yet,'  iii,  264. 

Since  here  we  are  set  in  array  round  the  table,  V,  128. 

So  sung  the  old  bard  in  the  grief  of  his  heart,  v,  183. 

Soft  spread  the  southern  summer  night,  V,  187. 

Soldier,  rest!  thy  warfare  o'er,  iii,  35. 

Soldier,  wake!  the  day  is  peeping,  v,  387. 

Son  of  a  witch,  v,  403. 

Son  of  Honour,  theme  of  story,  v,  103. 

Staffa,  sprung  from  high  Macdonald,  v,  156. 

Stern  eagle  of  the  far  Northwest,  V,  327. 

Summer  eve  is  gone  and  past,  IV,  147. 

Sweet  shone  the  sun  on  the  fair  lake  of  Toro,  I,  43. 

Take  these  flowers  which,  purple  waving,  1,  35. 

Take  thou  no  scorn,  v,  308. 

That  day  of  wrath,  that  dreadful  day,  i,  293. 

That 's  right,  friend  —  drive  the  gaitlings  back,  V,  376. 

The  Baron  of  Smaylho'me  rose  with  day,  i,  59. 

The  Druid  Urien  had  daughters  seven.  III,  278.. 

The  forest  of  Glenmore  is  drear,  i,  136. 

The  heath  this  night  must  be  my  bed.  III,  lOO. 

The  herring  loves  the  merry  moonlight,  v,  223. 

The  knight's  to  the  mountain,  v,  168. 

The  last  of  our  steers  on  the  board  has  been  spread,  V,  416. 

The  Minstrel  came  once  more  to  view.  III,  196, 

The  monk  must  arise  when  the  matins  ring,  V,  290. 

The  moon  is  in  her  summer  glow,  iv,  ll. 

459 


INDEX   OF   FIRST  LINES 

The  moon's  on  the  lake  and  the  mist's  on  the  brae,  v,  217. 

The  news  has  flown  frae  mouth  to  mouth,  v,  363. 

The  Pope  he  was  saying  the  high,  high  mass,  i,  69. 

The  rose  is  fairest  when  't  is  budding  new,  iii,  no. 

The  sages  —  for  authority,  pray,  look,  V,  380. 

The  sound  of  Rokeby's  woods  I  hear,  iv,  166. 

The  sun  is  rising  dimly  red,  V,  331. 

The  sun  upon  the  lake  is  low,  v,  419. 

The  sun  upon  the  Weirdlaw  Hill,  v,  250. 

The  toils  are  pitched,  and  the  stakes  are  set,  ill,  135. 

The  violet  in  her  greenwood  bower,  i,  34. 

The  way  was  long,  the  wind  was  cold,  i,  159. 

The  Wildgrave  winds  his  bugle-horn,  i,  17. 

There  came  three  merry  men  from  south,  west,  and  north,  v,  305. 

There  is  a  mood  of  mind  we  all  have  known,  iii,  219, 

There  is  mist  on  the  mountain,  and  night  on  the  vale,  v,  173. 

There's  a  bloodhound  ranging  Tinwald  wood,  v,  264. 

They  bid  me  sleep,  they  bid  me  pray,  iii,  132. 

This  is  the  day  when  the  fairy  kind,  v,  318. 

Those  evening  clouds,  that  setting  ray,  i,  33. 

Thou  so  needful,  yet  so  dread,  v,  349. 

Thou  who  seek'st  my  fountain  lone,  v,  323. 

Though  right  be  aft  put  down  by  strength,  v,  179. 

Thrice  to  the  holly  brake,  v,  313. 

Thy  craven  fear  my  truth  accused,  v,  315. 

Thy  hue,  dear  pledge,  is  pure  and  bright,  V,  226, 

*T  is  sweet  to  hear  expiring  Summer's  sigh,  V,  139. 

To  horse!  to  horse!  the  standard  flies,  i,  38. 

To  the  Lords  of  Convention  't  was  Claver'se  who  spoke,  v,  422. 

To  youth,  to  age,  alike,  this  tablet  pale,  v,  418. 

Traquair  has  ridden  up  Chapelhope,  i,  115. 

True  Thomas  lay  on  Huntlie  bank,  i,  121. 

'T  was  a  Marechal  of  France,  and  he  fain  would  honour  gain,  V,  148. 

'T  was  All-souls'  eve,  and  Surrey's  heart  beat  high,  I,  281. 

'T  was  near  the  fair  city  of  Benevent,  v,  395. 

'T  was  when  among  our  linden-trees,  v,  267. 

Twist  ye,  twine  ye!  even  so,  v,  204. 

Up  rose  the  sun  o'er  moor  and  mead,  v,  410. 

Viewless  Essence,  thin  and  bare,  v,  407, 

Wake,  Maid  of  Lorn!  the  moments  fly,  iv,  235. 
Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay,  v,  132. 

460 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 

Wasted,  weary,  wherefore  stay,  v,  205. 

We  are  bound  to  drive  the  bullocks,  v,  178. 

We  love  the  shrill  trumpet,  we  love  the  drum's  rattle,  v,  420. 

Welcome,  grave  stranger,  to  our  green  retreats,  v,  141. 

What  brave  chief  shall  head  the  forces,  v,  394. 

What  did  ye  wi'  the  bridal  ring,  v,  263. 

What  I  am  I  must  not  show,  v,  314. 

What  makes  the  troopers'  frozen  courage  muster,  I,  44. 

Wheel  the  wild  dance,  v,  192. 

When  friends  are  met  o'er  merry  cheer,  V,  425. 

When  fruitful  Clydesdale's  apple-bowers,  i,  83. 

When  Israel  of  the  Lord  beloved,  v,  302, 

When  princely  Hamilton's  abode,  I,  100. 

When  the  fight  of  grace  is  fought,  V,  265. 

When  the  glede's  in  the  blue  cloud,  v,  263. 

When  the  heathen  trumpet's  clang,  v,  254. 

When  the  last  Laird  of  Ravenswood  to  Ravenswood  shall  ride,  v, 

291. 
When  the  lone  pilgrim  views  afar,  v,  245. 
When  the  tempest's  at  the  loudest,  v,  421. 
Whence  the  brooch  of  burning  gold,  iv,  266, 
Where  corpse-light,  V,  347. 
Where  shall  the  lover  rest,  11,  103. 
Whet  the  bright  steel,  v,  300. 

While  the  dawn  on  the  mountain  was  misty  and  grey,  IV,  163. 
Why  sit'st  thou  by  that  ruined  hall,  V,  221. 
Why  weep  ye  by  the  tide,  ladie?  v,  210. 
Widowed  wife  and  wedded  maid,  v,  391. 

With  my  curch  on  my  foot,  and  my  shoe  on  my  hand,  V,  264. 
Within  that  awful  volume  lies,  v,  316. 
Woman's  faith,  and  woman's  trust,  v,  388. 

Yes,  thou  mayst  sigh,  v,  408. 

You  have  summoned  me  once,  you  have  summoned  me  twice,  v, 

322. 
Young  men  will  love  thee  more  fair  and  more  fast,  v,  172. 
Your  suppliant,  by  name,  v,  360. 
Youth  of  the  dark  eye,  wherefore  didst  thou  call  me?  v,  313. 


INDEX   OF  TITLES 

[The  Titles  of  Major  Works  and  General  Divisions  are  set  in  small 
capitals] 

'Admire  not  that  I  gained  the  prize,'  v,  421. 

Albert  Graeme's  Song,  i,  278. 

Alexandre,  M.,  the  celebrated  Ventriloquist,  Lines  addressed  to,  v, 

384- 
Alice  Brand,  ill,  121. 
Allen-a-Dale,  iv,  104. 
'An  hour  with  thee,'  V,  402. 
Ancient  Gaelic  Melody,  v,  292. 
'And  did  ye  not  hear  of  a  mirth  befell,'  V,  165. 
'And  what  though  winter  will  pinch  severe,'  V,  226. 
Anne  of  Geierstein,  verses  from,  V,  414. 
Answer  to  Introductory  Epistle,  V,  308. 
Antiquary,  The,  verses  from,  V,  221. 
Appeal,  The,  Epilogue  to,  v,  256. 
'As  lords  their  labourers'  hire  delay,'  v,  383. 
Avenel,  Mary,  To,  v,  323. 

Ballads:  — 

Alice  Brand,  in,  121. 

'And  whither  would  you  lead  me  then,'  IV,  170. 

Battle  of  Sempach,  The,  v,  267. 

Bothwell  Castle,  I,  83. 

Cadyow  Castle,  i,  100. 

Castle  of  the  Seven  Shields,  The,  ill,  278. 

Christie's  Will,  I,  115, 

Erl-King,  The,  i,  36. 

Eve  of  St.  John,  The,  i,  59. 

Fire-King,  The,  i,  75. 

Frederick  and  Alice,  i,  95. 

Glenfinias,  I,  45. 

Grey  Brother,  The,  I,  69. 

Noble  Moringer,  The,  v,  275. 

Reiver's  Wedding,  The,  i,  no. 

Shepherd's  Tale,  The,  i,  85. 

'The  herring  loves  the  merry  moonlight,'  v,  223. 

462 


INDEX   OF  TITLES 

Thomas  the  Rhymer,  i,  121. 

Wild  Huntsman,  The,  i,  16. 

William  and  Helen,  i,  3. 
Ballads  from  the  German  of  Burger,  Two,  i,  i. 
Bannatyne  Club,  The,  v,  372. 
Bard's  Incantation,  The,  i,  136. 
Barefooted  Friar,  The,  v,  298. 
Battle  of  Beal'  an  Duine,  iii,  196. 
Battle  of  Sempach,  The,  v,  267. 
Betrothed,  The,  songs  from,  v,  387. 
Black  Knight  and  Wamba,  The,  v,  304,  305. 
Bloody  Vest,  The,  v,  395. 
Boat  Song,  iii,  58. 
Bold  Dragoon,  The,  v,  148. 
Bonny  Dundee,  V,  422. 
Border  Song,  v,  308, 
Bothwell  Castle,  i,  83. 
Bridal  of  Triermain,  The,  v,  i. 
Bride  of  Lammermoor,  The,  songs  from,  v,  290. 
Brooch  of  Lorn,  The,  iv,  266. 
Bryce  Snailsfoot's  Advertisement,  V,  353. 
Buccleuch,  Duke  of,  To  his  Grace  the,  V,  158. 
BiJRGER,  Two  Ballads  from  the  German  of,  i,  i. 
'But  follow,  follow  me,'  V,  178. 
'  By  pathless  march,  by  greenwood  tree,'  v,  400. 

Cadyow  Castle,  i,  100. 

'Canny  moment,  lucky  fit,*  V,  203. 

'Carle,  now  the  king's  come,'  v,  363. 

Castle  of  the  Seven  Shields,  The,  iii,  278. 

Catch  of  Cowley's  altered,  A,  V,  382. 

Cavalier,  The,  iv,  163. 

Cheviot,  I,  94. 

Christie's  Will,  I,  115. 

Chronicles  of  the  Canongate,  verses  from,  V,  405. 

Cleveland's  Songs,  v,  344. 

Coronach,  ill,  93. 

Coronach,  Lord  Ronald's,  I,  45. 

County  Guy,  v,  375. 

Crusader's  Return,  The,  v,  296. 

Cypress  Wreath,  The,  iv,  154. 

Dance  of  Death,  The,  v,  189. 

'Dark  Ahriman,  whom  Irak  still,'  v,  392. 

463 


INDEX   OF  TITLES 

'Dark  shall  be  light,'  v,  206. 

Dead,  Hymn  for  the,  i,  293. 

Death  Chant,  v,  407. 

Death  of  Don  Pedro,  The,  v,  428. 

Death  of  Keeldar,  The,  v,  410. 

De  Wilton's  History,  11,  229. 

'Donald  Caird's  Come  Again,'  v,  260. 

Don  Roderick,  The  Vision  of,  ii,  273. 

Doom  of  Dcvorgoil,  The,  songs  from,  v,  419. 

Dying  Bard,  The,  v,  115. 

Early  Ballads  and  Lyrics,  i,  29. 

Edward  the  Black  Prince,  To  the  Memory  of,  v,  252. 

Epilogue  ('The  sages  —  for  authority,  pray,  look'),  v,  380. 

Epilogue  to  'The  Appeal,'  v,  256. 

Epilogue  to  the  Drama  founded  on  'Saint  Ronan's  Well,'  v,  376. 

Epitaph  designed  for  a  monument  in  Lichfield  Cathedral,  v,  138. 

Epitaph  ('Heir  lyeth  John  o'  ye  Girnell'),  V,  222. 

Epitaph  on  Balfour  of  Burley,  v,  228. 

Epitaph  on  Mrs.  Erskine,  v,  289. 

Erl-King,  The,  I,  36. 

Eve  of  St.  John,  The,  i,  59. 

Fair  Maid  of  Perth,  The,  verses  from,  v,  405. 

'Family  Legend,  The,'  Prologue  to,  v,  139. 

Farewell,  The,  iv,  166. 

Farewell  to  Mackenzie,  v,  181. 

Farewell  to  the  Muse,  v,  358. 

Field  of  Waterloo,  The,  hi,  315. 

Fire-King,  The,  i,  75. 

Fishermen's  Song,  The,  v,  343. 

Fitztraver's  Song,  i,  281. 

Flora  Mac-Ivor's  Song,  v,  173. 

'For  a'  That  an'  a'  That,  v,  179. 

Foray,  The,  v,  416. 

Fording  the  River,  v,  309. 

Fortune,  Lines  on,  v,  430. 

Fortunes  of  Nigel,  The,  lines  from,  v,  360. 

Frederick  and  Alice,  i,  95. 

From  Virgil,  a  translation,  I,  31. 

Funeral  Hymn,  v,  306. 


Gaelic  Melody,  Ancient,  v,  292. 
Glee  for  King  Charles,  v,  400. 


464 


INDEX   OF   TITLES 

Glee-Maiden,  Song  of  the,  v,  408. 

Glencoe,  On  the  Massacre  of,  v,  151. 

Glendinning,  Edward,  To,  v,  323. 

Glenfinlas,  I,  45. 

Goetz  von  Berlichingen,  song  from,  I,  41. 

Goldthred's  Song,  v,  326. 

Grey  Brother,  The,  i,  69. 

Guy  Mannering,  songs  from,  V,  203. 

Halbert,  To,  v,  313,  318,  322. 

Halbert's  Incantation,  v,  313. 

Halcro  and  Noma,  v,  338. 

Halcro's  Song,  v,  330. 

Halcro's  Verses,  v,  345, 

Harold's  Song,  i,  285. 

Harold  Harfager's  Song,  v,  331. 

Harold  the  Dauntless,  hi,  217. 

Harp,  The,  iv,  160. 

'He  came,  but  valour  so  had  fired  his  eye,'  v,  221. 

Health  to  Lord  Melville,  v,  128. 

Heart  of  Midlothian,  The,  songs  from,  v,  263. 

Hellvellyn,  I,  139. 

'Hie  away,  hie  away,'  v,  169. 

Highland  Widow,  The,  song  from,  V,  405. 

'Hither  we  come,'  v,  427. 

Host's  Tale,  The,  ll,  in. 

'Hour  with  Thee,  An,*  v,  402. 

House  of  Aspen,  The,  songs  from,  I,  42. 

Hunting  Song,  v,  132. 

Hymns:  — 

Funeral,  v,  306. 

for  the  Dead,  I,  293. 

Rebecca's,  v,  302. 
Hymn  to  the  Virgin,  in,  107. 

'  I  asked  of  my  harp,'  v,  389. 

Imitation  (of  the  Farewell  to  Mackenzie),  v,  183. 

Imprisoned  Huntsman,  Lay  of  the,  in,  208. 

Inscription  for  the  Monument  of  the  Rev.  George  Scott,  v, 

418. 
Invocation,  in,  250. 

'It  chanced  that  Cupid  on  a  season,'  v,  200. 
'It's  up  Glenbarchan's  braes  I  gaed,'  v,  169. 
Ivanhoe,  verses  from,  v,  296. 

M  465 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 

Jock  of  Hazeldean,  v,  210. 

Kenilworth,  song  from,  v,  326. 
Kemble's,  Mr.,  Farewell  Address,  v,  247. 

Lady  o'f  the  Lake,  The,  hi,  i. 

Lady,  To  a,  i,  35. 

Lament,  iii,  205. 

'Late,  when  the  autumn  evening  fell,'  v,  166. 

Lay  of  Poor  Louise,  The,  v,  405. 

Lay  of  the  Imprisoned  Huntsman,  in,  208. 

Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel.The,  i,  141. 

Legend  of  Montrose,  A,  songs  from,  v,  292. 

Letter  in  Verse,  v,  158. 

Lines:  addressed  to  M.  Alexandre  the  celebrated  ventriloquist,  V, 
384;  addressed  to  Ronald  Macdonald,  Esq.,  of  Staflfa,  v,  156;  on 
Fortune,  v,  430;  to  Sir  Cuthbert  Sharp,  v,  404;  written  for  Miss 
Smith,  V,  245. 

Lochinvar,  li,  183. 

Lockhart,  Esq.,  J.  G.,  To,  v,  385. 

'Look  not  thou  on  beauty's  charming,'  v,  290. 

Lord  of  the  Isles,  The,  rv,  223. 

Lord  Ronald's  Coronach,  i,  45. 

Lullaby  of  an  Infant  Chief,  v,  207. 

Lyulph's  Tale,  v,  22. 

Macdonald,    Ronald,    Esq.,   of    Staffa,   Lines    addressed   to,   v, 

156. 
MacGregor's  Gathering,  v,  217. 
Mackenzie,  Farewell  to,  v,  181. 
Mackrimmon's  Lament,  v,  258. 
Madge  Wildfire's  Songs,  v,  263. 
Maid  of  Isla,  The,  v,  356. 
Maid  of  Neidpath,  The,  v,  123. 
Maid  of  Toro,  The,  v,  119. 
Marmion,  ii,  I. 

Massacre  of  Glencoe,  On  the,  v,  151. 
Melville,  Lord,  Health  to,  V,  128. 
Mermaids  and  Mermen,  Song  of  the,  V,  333. 
Miscellaneous  Poems,  v,  113. 
Monastery,  The,  verses  from,  v,  308. 
Monks  of  Bangor's  March,  The,  v,  254. 
Moon,  Song  to  the,  iv,  42. 
Mortham's  History,  iv,  127. 

466 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 

Nigel's  Initiation  at  Whitefriars,  v,  360. 

Noble  Moringer,  The,  v,  275. 

Nora's  Vow,  v,  215. 

Norman  Horse-Shoe,  The,  v,  117. 

*  Norman  saw  on  English  Oak,'  v,  299. 

Noma's  Incantations,  v,  347.    The  same,  at  the  meeting  with 

Minna,  V,  349. 
Noma's  Verses,  v,  335. 

Oak  Tree,  To  an,  v,  176. 

Old  Mortality,  verses  from,  v,  226. 

On  a  Thunder-Storm,  i,  32. 

On  Ettrick  Forest's  Mountains  Dun,  V,  354. 

On  the  Massacre  of  Glencoe,  V,  151. 

On  the  Setting  Sun,  I,  33. 

Orphan  Maid,  The,  v,  293. 

Palmer,  The,  v,  121. 

Pharos  Loquitur,  v,  157. 

Pibroch  of  Donald  Dhu,  v,  212. 

Pirate,  The,  verses  from,  v,  327, 

Poacher,  The,  v,  141. 

Postscriptum,  v,  162. 

Prologue  to  Miss  Baillie's  Play  of  'The  Family  Legend,*  v,  139. 

Quest  of  Sultaun  Solimaun,  The,  v,  229. 

Rebecca's  Hymn,  v,  302. 
Redgauntlet,  verses  from,  V,  382. 
Reiver's  Wedding,  The,  I,  110. 
Resolve,  The,  v,  135. 
Return  to  Ulster,  The,  v,  208. 
Rhein-Wein  Lied,  I,  44. 
Rob  Roy,  song  from,  v,  252. 

ROKEBY,  IV,  I. 

Romance  of  Dunois,  v,  196. 

Saint  Cloud,  v,  187. 

St.  Swithin's  Chair,  V,  170. 

Scott,  Rev.  George,  Inscription  for  the  Monument  of,  V,  418. 

Search  after  Happiness,  The,  v,  229. 

Secret  Tribunal,  The,  v,  414. 

Sempach,  The  Battle  of,  v,  267. 

Setting  Sun,  On  the,  I,  33. 

467 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 

Sharp,  Sir  Cuthbert,  Lines  to,  v,  404. 

Shepherd's  Tale,  The,  i,  85. 

Sir  David  Lindesay's  Tale,  11,  145. 

Smith,  Miss,  Lines  written  for,  v,  245. 

'Soldier,  wake!'  v,  387. 

Soldier's  Song,  in,  184. 

'  Son  of  a  Witch,'  v,  403. 

Songs:  — 

'A  weary  lot  is  thine,  fair  maid,'  iv,  103. 

'Admire  not  that  I  gained  the  prize/  V,  421. 

Albert  Graeme's,  I,  278. 

Allen-a-Dale,  iv,  104. 

Ancient  Gaelic  Melody,  v,  292. 

'And  did  ye  not  hear  of  a  mirth  befell,'  V,  165. 

Battle  of  Beal'  an  Duine,  iii,  196. 

Black  Knight  and  Wamba,  The,  V,  304,  305. 

Boat  Song,  in,  58. 

Bold  Dragoon,  The,  V,  148. 

Bonny  Dundee,  v,  422. 

Border  Song,  v,  308. 

Brooch  of  Lorn,  The,  iv,  266. 

*But  follow,  follow  me,'  v,  178. 

'Canny  moment,  lucky  fit,'  v,  203. 

Catch  of  Cowley's  altered,  A,  v,  382. 

Cavalier,  The,  iv,  163. 

Cleveland's,  v,  344. 

Coronach,  in,  93. 

County  Guy,  v,  375. 

Cypress  Wreath,  The,  iv,  154. 

'Dark  shall  be  light,'  v,  206. 

'  Donald  Caird  's  Come  Again,'  v,  260. 

Doom  of  Devorgoil,  The,  songs  from,  V,  419. 

Farewell,  The,  iv,  166. 

Farewell  to  Mackenzie,  v,  181. 

Fishermen's,  The,  v,  343. 

Fitztraver's,  i,  281. 

Flora  Mac-Ivor's,  v,  173. 

'For  a'  That  an'  a'  That,'  v,  179. 

For  the  Anniversary  Meeting  of  the  Pitt  Club  of  Scotland,  V, 

154. 
Glee  for  King  Charles,  v,  400. 
Glee-Maiden's,  v,  408, 
'God  protect  brave  Alexander,'  v,  219. 
Goetz  von  Berlichingen,  from,  i,  41. 

468 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 

Goldthred's,  v,  326. 

Halcro's,  v,  330. 

Harold's,  I,  285. 

Harold  Harfager's,  v,  331. 

Harp,  The,  iv,  160. 

'Hawk  and  osprey  screamed  for  joy,'  III,  258. 

Health  to  Lord  Melville,  v,  128, 

'Hie  away,  hie  away,'  v,  169. 

Highland  Widow,  The,  from,  v,  405. 
1;  'Hither  we  come,'  v,  427. 

I  House  of  Aspen,  The,  songs  from,  i,  42. 

Hunting  Song,  v,  132. 

'  I  asked  of  my  harp,'  v,  389. 

'  III  fares  the  bark  with  tackle  riven,'  ill,  263. 

'It's  up  Glenbarchan's  braes  I  gaed,'  v,  169. 

'It  was  a  little  naughty  page,'  i,  41. 

'Joy  to  the  victors,  the  sons  of  old  Aspen,'  I,  42. 

Lament,  iii,  205. 

Lament,  Mackrimmon's,  v,  258. 

Lay  of  Poor  Louise,  The,  v,  405. 

Lay  of  the  Imprisoned  Huntsman,  ill,  208. 

Lochinvar,  Lady  Heron's  Song,  11,  183. 

'Look  not  thou  on  beauty's  charming,'  v,  290. 

'Lord  William  was  born  in  gilded  bower,'  ill,  240. 

Lullaby  of  an  Infant  Chief,  v,  207. 

MacGregor's  Gathering,  v,  217. 

Madge  Wildfire's,  v,  263. 

Maid  of  Isla,  The,  v,  356. 

Maid  of  Neidpath,  The,  v,  123. 

Maid  of  Toro,  The,  v,  1 19. 

Mermaids  and  Mermen,  of  the,  V,  333. 

Monks  of  Bangor's  March,  The,  V,  254. 

Moon,  To  the,  iv,  42. 

Nora's  Vow,  v,  215. 

'Not  faster  yonder  rowers'  might,'  lii,  41. 

'O,  Brignall  banks  are  wild  and  fair,'  iv,  91. 

'O  for  the  voice  of  that  wild  horn,'  v,  252. 

'O,  say  not,  my  love,  with  that  mortified  air,'  v,  134.  - 

Old  Song,  v,  405. 

On  the  Lifting  of  the  Banner  of  the  House  of  Buccleuch, 
V,  201. 

Orphan  Maid,  The,  v,  293. 

Palmer,  The,  v,  121. 

Pibroch  of  Donald  Dhu,  v,  212. 

469 


INDEX   OF  TITLES 

'Quake  to  your  foundations  deep,'  v,  105. 

'  Rash  adventurer,  bear  thee  back,'  v,  90. 

Rhein-Wein  Lied,  I,  44. 

St.  Swithin's  Chair,  v,  170. 

'See  the  treasures  Merlin  piled,'  v,  95. 

'She  may  be  fair,'  he  sang,  'but  yet,'  ill,  264. 

'Soldier,  rest!  thy  warfare  o'er,'  ill,  35. 

'Soldier,  wake!'  v,  387. 

Soldier's,  in,  184. 

'Son  of  Honour,  theme  of  story,'  v,  103. 

'Summer  eve  is  gone  and  past,'  iv,  147. 

Sun  upon  the  Lake,  The,  v,  419. 

Sun  upon  the  Weirdlaw  Hill,  The,  v,  250. 

'Sweet  shone  the  sun  on  the  fair  lake  of  Tore,'  I,  43. 

Tempest,  Song  of  the,  v,  327. 

'The  heath  this  night  must  be  my  bed,*  m,  100. 

'The  knight's  to  the  mountain,'  v,  168. 

'The  monk  must  arise  when  the  matins  ring,'  v,  290. 

'They  bid  me  sleep,  they  bid  me  pray,'  ill,  132. 

'Twist  ye,  twine  ye!  even  so,'  v,  204. 

'Wake,  Maid  of  Lorn,'  iv,  235. 

Wandering  Willie,  v,  125. 

War-Song,  v,  300. 

War- Song  of  Lachlan,  v,  185. 

War-Song  of  the  Royal  Edinburgh  Light  Dragoons,  I,  38. 

'Wasted,  weary,  wherefore  stay,'  v,  205. 

'We  are  bound  to  drive  the  bullocks,'  v,  178. 

'We  love  the  shrill  trumpet,'  v,  420. 

'Wheel  the  wild  dance,'  v,  192. 

'When  friends  are  met,'  v,  425. 

'When  the  last  Laird  of  Ravenswood  to  Ravenswood  shall 
ride,'  v,  291. 

'When  the  tempest,'  v,  421. 

'Where  shall  the  lover  rest,'  11,  103. 

White  Lady  of  Avenel,  of  the,  v,  309. 

'Widowed  wife  and  wedded  maid,'  v,  391. 

Woman's  Faith,  v,  388. 

'Young  men  will  love  thee  more  fair  and  more  fast!'  v,  172. 
Sun  upon  the  Lake,  The,  v,  419. 
Sun  upon  the  Weirdlaw  Hill,  The,  v,  250. 

Talisman,  The,  verses  from,  v,  392. 

Tempest,  Song  of  the,  v,  327. 

'The  herring  loves  the  merry  moonlight,'  v,  223. 

470 


'      INDEX   OF  TITLES 

•The  knight's  to  the  mountain,'  v,  i68. 

'The  monk  must  arise  when  the  matins  ring,'  v,  290. 

Thomas  the  Rhymer,  i,  121. 

'Thou,  so  needful,  yet  so  dread,'  v,  349. 

Thunder-Storm,  On  a,  i,  32. 

To  a  Lady,  i,  35, 

To  an  Oak  Tree,  v,  176. 

To  Edward  Glendinning,  v,  323. 

To  Halbert  (The  White  Maid  of  Avenel),  v,  313,  318,  322. 

To  his  Grace  the  Duke  of  Buccleuch,  v,  158. 

To  J.  G.  Lockhart,  Esq.,  v,  385. 

To  Mary  Avenel,  v,  323. 

To  the  Memory  of  Edward  the  Black  Prince,  V,  252. 

To  the  Sub-Prior,  v,  311. 

Triermain,  The  Bridal  of,  v,  i. 

Troubadour,  The,  v,  198. 

'Twist  ye,  twine  ye!  even  so,'  v,  204. 

Verses  found,  with  a  lock  of  hair,   in  Bothwell's  pocket-book, 

V,  226. 
Verses  sung  at  the  dinner  to  the  Grand-duke  Nicholas,  v,  219. 
Violet,  The,  i,  34. 
Virgil,  a  Translation  from,  i,  31. 
Virgin,  Hymn  to  the,  ill,  107. 
Vision  of  Don  Roderick,  The,  ii,  273. 

Wandering  Willie,  V,  125. 

War-Song,  v,  300. 

War-Song  of  Lachlan,  v,  185. 

War-Song  of  the  Royal  Edinburgh  Light  Dragoons,  i,  38. 

'Wasted,  weary,  wherefore  stay,'  v,  205. 

Waterloo,  The  Field  of,  hi,  315. 

Waverley,  songs  and  verses  from,  v,  165. 

'We  are  bound  to  drive  the  bullocks,'  v,  178. 

'We  love  the  shrill  trumpet,'  v,  420. 

'What  brave  chief  shall  head  the  forces,'  v,  394. 

'When  friends  are  met,'  v,  425. 

'When  the  last  Laird  of  Ravenswood  to  Ravenswood  shall  ride,'  V, 

291. 
'When  the  tempest,'  v,  421. 
White  Lady's  Farewell,  The,  v,  324. 
White  Lady  of  Avenel,  Songs  of  the,  v,  309. 
Why  sit'st  thou  by  that  ruined  hall,'  v,  221. 
'Widowed  wife  and  wedded  maid,'  v,  391. 

471 


INDEX  OF   TITLES 

Wild  Huntsman,  The,  i,  i6. 
William  and  Helen,  i,  3. 
Woman's  Faith,  v,  388. 
Woodstock,  verses  from,  v,  400. 

'Young  men  will  love  thee  more  fair  and  more  fast,'  v,  172. 


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